


The Butcher of Blaiddyd

by Meatbike344



Series: Fairy Tales in the Dark [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magic, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sickfic, Witch Hunters, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26390206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatbike344/pseuds/Meatbike344
Summary: As far as Felix could remember, his witch coven has lived in the safety of the shield he always provided them. Protecting them from the lurking terrors of civilization that seek their ruin. But one day, the shield weakens, and a dangerous hunter slips into the place Felix calls home.And for the first time in his life, he would have to fight to make it out alive. For him and his family.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Series: Fairy Tales in the Dark [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889569
Comments: 41
Kudos: 132





	The Butcher of Blaiddyd

It was before Felix’s time.

Back in the old years, the witch covens used to operate within the town sheds and cities, in the secrecy of basements and night-time curfew. It began with the former pagan folk who followed the old gods of nature and death—even after pledging themselves to the Goddess’ light, they were not content with false beliefs for long and worshiped their mother tongue in the privacy of their homes.

But in a land so shaken up by the presence of out worldly forces and phenomenons beyond human comprehension, it was only natural that mistrust turned inward into ugly fear.

And the witch hunts began. It started with the womenfolk for they were always scapegoats of the terror of man. Poor wives and daughters dragged out on the streets and burned them in front of their husbands. Then came the elderly and sick, the children, and finally, the rest of them.

But the greatest tragedy was the infection of fear that plagued the cities—neighbors accusing neighbor, family against family. It was not long before the witch hunters came, silver-armed inquisitors from the north who once walked in the way of the old gods and weaponized that knowledge against the covens.

The witches fled civilization and escaped into the deep, endless forests of the northern lands. The covens were forced to take refugee among the trees and shadows, settling deep in the heart of the great woods that stretched like a bottomless ocean all around the mountains.

Cold, white-black, forests that devoured wandering travelers and naughty children left behind by desperate parents. They nestled very quietly against the confounds of nature as the boots of hunters lingered at the mouth, hesitant.

Every man knows that trespassing through any forest in the north was suicide. It was too tall, too deep, too dark, with gigantic beasts and creatures of magic stalking all around the grounds. The covens could survive—their magic was of the earth and beyond the realm of reason, dependent on the untouched nature around them.

But the hunters were relentless in their pursuit of heretics—the witches were only granted a small and fleeting peace before the men in silver would attempt to pass through the trees and onward.

And it was then that, the refuges and outcasts of a world unwanted of their faith and magic lived in the protection of the forests for years until the new generation could only identify a witch as a hag in the woods and a witch hunter as a noble profession.

Every story needs a hero and a villain.

And for Felix, he was already born into a role so naturally.

His coven belonged to the woods which surrounded the Blaiddyd territory—a stark, cold land of eternal night, plagued with ice rain and blizzards. The forest here was infamous among men, called the Black Frost due to very little light coming through the trees thus, giving off the impression of an endless abyss. Starving parents found it to be a popular place to leave their sleeping children behind in hopes of feeding themselves the next day. Poor little babies left to the mercy of hungry beasts and the bitter cold; the former option was the more merciful death, surprisingly.

This was supposed to be the fate of Felix and his older brother Glenn when their father—whose face and voice they could no longer recall, asked the two children to wait for him as he went back for something.

He never returned.

Glenn, who was not quite as old, was smart and bold. He took the hand of his baby brother, this small child shivering with dripping snot and red eyes, and together, they ventured deep in the woods. Everything was dark. Everything was wet and freezing. There were unnatural noises belonging to no animal growling all around them. Glenn had some bread in his pockets and used a bit to leave a crumb trail in case they got lost; the rest, he fed to Felix even if it was stale and frozen over.

The boys eventually saw smoke from a hidden hut, right under white willows of ice. A woman was tending to a garden of sweet beets, almost like candies in the snow. When Felix cried, she lifted her head up and stared back at the frightened boys leaning out from a tree trunk. A smile, perhaps too forceful for her worn-out face, and beckoned them closer.

Even from where they stood, they knew this was no ordinary woman—no one could possible make a life so deep in the Black Frost, unless they were not human. But, for some unexplained reason, it was Glenn who took the first step; the two children disappeared forever in the Black Frost, lured into a house of gingerbread, and forever remained in the realm of out worldly.

At least, that was what men had believed after their father had abandoned them. If the cold and the beasts did not consume the boys, then the witches will, who used the blood of children to preserve their youth. In reality, Glenn and Felix had found sanctuary in the heart of death.

The woman did not eat them as expected. In fact, she bathed them, fed them, took them in as her own. And in return, both boys learned her art—learned the art of the rest of her coven who revealed their true faces as loving, peaceful figures of nature. Glenn excelled in elemental magic, twisting elements to destructive deadly degrees, which he used to protect his newly found family.

Felix, on the other hand, became the coven’s aegis.

_________

His magic was waning.

Felix felt the trickles of power leaving his fingertips as he strengthened his shield early in the dark morning. It left his body in small, leaking trails like blood from a gushing wound; once he completely emptied himself, the young man collapsed on the ground and gripped his head.

The success of the Blaiddyd Coven always relied on their shield, a gigantic ward that surrounded the entire forest community and kept witch hunters from discovering their location. Glenn and Felix’s adopted mother was the coven’s shield keeper as her mother was previously and her mother before that.

It was a continuous line of powerful witches who excelled at ward magic, capable of maintaining it for years on end. And now it was Felix’s turn and the job was slowly killing him.

Swirling, pulsing, white pains flashed all around him: his magic, for the first time in a long time, was not enough to fully restore the ward around the forest—it needed more.

Felix knew this very well and probably because he exhausted himself at Glenn’s wedding to Ingrid last week. Since then, he’s been improper in his rest and energy reservation, more along lazily studying in his magic and collecting materials for experimental potions.

Felix knew better than to be neglectful in his duties, especially since he was the only one capable of preserving the coven’s shield. To him, it was a strained duty—necessary but one that truly sucked most of the energy out of him.

The young witch would rather spend his days training in new destruction spells with Glenn or even learn fire magic with Annette, which was always such an eventful time for the both of them. But instead, he was expected to commit most of his time to advance in his ward magic for the coven’s sake, often meditating for hours on end to build up energy and stamina.

Felix tried not feeling resentful. It was his decision after all after he found out that he had a natural gift for this field in magic when his adopted mother first demonstrated it. After she died, he took over her role with much ease. Now it all feels like an obligation that was eating him up every day.

“We need to keep the hunters at bay,” Glenn always said with a tone still sympathetic to Felix's plight. But he was not the one constantly feeding a gigantic shield every day, sacrificing literal bouts of energy and pure magic just to ensure the coven’s safety.

And what of the hunters?

As far as Felix knew, he had not met one yet. Glenn and Ingrid have encountered a few, but the numbers were so small and far in between that Felix was sure that they were no longer a threat. No matter who told him to ‘fear’ these witch hunters, the young man could hardly take any of these warnings to heart—it had been nearly five decades since the covens were expelled to the forests and surely, by then, the hunters would have given up on their crusade.

Regardless of how he felt, Felix had a duty to keep up. With an exhausted sigh, the young man pulled himself up and tried his long raven hair into a bun, readying himself to another walk to the flower field.

Every day he had to pick winter roses—white flowers that emitted small pockets of light properties in its petals, and then grinding them into a fine powder and mixing them with fruits and herbs. It was always potion making and potion drinking to refill his body of all the magic he lost, all for that shield. Every day was the same thing. It was just today that his own magic failed him and the shield wavered a bit from the lack of the man’s usual strength. Just a while longer and he would be able to restore it fully.

Felix was sure leaving it weak for just a little bit would not hurt anyone—who would dare cross the Black Frost forest this early in the morning?

The flower field was not a general term despite it’s simplicity, though Felix still found the whole thing very silly. It was in reference to the only field of blossoming flowers in the entire Black Frost forest, right in the heart of the behemoth.

A field of pure white flowers in the gentle shadows of the trees, glowing serenely like fireflies. Annette said that the unnatural light the ebbed from the flowers was the result of the old magic from the roots. To Felix, this was practically a free energy reserve and the entire coven left the flower field alone just for him.

The young man settled down in the field, brushing the hair from his eyes, and surveying the plants around him. While he never actively admitted this to Glenn or Annette, Felix’s favorite moment in his very stressful day of being a literal magic supplier was flower picking. Flower picking.

At first, he detested the thought and merely went to grab a few flowers for his potions. But the field was in the most isolated part of the woods—completely shrouded in silence with just the melodic song of birds and soft noises of crickets.

When Felix sat down, his aching body resting among a near-euphoric sanctuary of beautiful glowing flowers and the cool darkness like a soothing night. In a life that often demanded everything from him, that sucked him dry every day for the sake of his family, flower picking was his only solace from the world. It was peaceful—no one ever bothered him here. He could be himself here.

Usually, Felix did not select any specimens right away, and instead sat for a bit, just taking in the atmosphere. On the most stressful days like today, he let his dark hair down loose past his shoulders, his hooded robe off, and laid down among the flowers.

He watched the few rays of blue sunlight pulse from the small holes in the canopy, but it was not enough for any life to properly survive—or for Felix’s white complexion to get any better. Pinholes of blue stars danced above, the only substitute for the true starry ocean that occupied the sky every night, the night denied to the coven.

And like a peaceful death, Felix drifted away among the white flowers of winter, glowing so effervescent, like moonbeams in the night.

Felix always had dreamless sleep. Mirthless and white. And when he awoke, it was always in a place unchanged and unmoving—the Black Frost forest never changed, day or night. But when Felix awoke, something was moving. Moving right outside his groggy vision in a slow and deliberate pace, waiting.

Felix shot up suddenly in a short-breathed panic, his heart racing, his blood raced through his body—animalistic instincts screaming for his legs to get up and run. And then, he saw it.

Standing outside of the flower field where the smallest flowers dwindle from the lack of moonlight was a looming figure—a man. He stood at the edge of the field, staring off right where Felix laid.

A man.

Not one from the coven either, but an outsider. He was a tall and imposing figure that cut into the dark background like a shining knife in the darkness, gleaming with sheered edges. The blue of his eyes glowered malevolently, emitting with constrained power, and his golden hair was pulled back with a few strands over his sharp face.

But the one thing that Felix’s eyes caught was the man’s attire: a dark blue long coat with black and white furs around the collar—steel armor around the shoulders, arms, and legs. And a silver crossbow on the back, a sheathed sword at the hip.

A witch hunter.

Felix’s heart dropped and he could not breathe. He could not move. He merely stared back at the intruder standing in the darkness, an exposed hilt of a blade ready for the kill. The two did not move, caught in the stillness of a shared time moving all around them.

Everything was racing so quickly, swirling about like a storm; a slow heat touched the base of Felix’s soles, twitching between getting up and running, and staying very still like stone. He could hear his own breathing expel in and out, the signs of a gut-torn animal dying in a snowy thicket.

The man’s lips curled up into a dangerous razor smile and the blue of his eyes darkened.

“Salutations,” he greeted in a drawl, the word hissing off his tongue like steam.

He did not move yet the distance between them was shortening by the second to oppressive levels—the hunter stalking around prey caught in a trap.

Felix did not move and he did not speak; he watched and he breathed.

The hunter grinned sharply. “It’s rather dangerous to be sleeping among the flowers, my dear. So open and exposed to the dangers of the forest—someone or something can come and snatch you in an instant.”

“I’m not sleeping,” Felix snapped back without thinking, surprising himself with the harshness of his words.

His unwanted guest blinked out of shock and seemed startled by the unexpected bite of Felix’s response; he then broke out into a small deep chuckle, his shoulder shaking.

“Oh, forgive me—I thought you were a maiden,” the hunter admitted with a half-laugh wiping a tear from his eyes.

Felix’s face reddened immensely and he sputtered. “A maiden? Where would you get an idea such as that?!”

The hunter said nothing, merely lifting a single brow in amusement and surveying his intense gaze all along the young man’s figure.

When Felix followed his eyes, he immediately stiffened: he had not noticed how absolutely exposed he appeared, which was usually the result of an unguarded sleep. His long dark hair was down and slinked over his bare skin, a few strands out in different directions. His robe was tossed aside, leaving just his undershirt and white thighs; the shirt hiked up a bit from sleep and revealed the soft paleness of his stomach.

Glenn always teased him about growing up as pretty as Ingrid, even more so with how much skinnier he was than her or how his hair was much longer. He always interpreted his brother’s words to be simple mockery—Felix never had time to build his body up properly into a man’s with all of his duties as the Blaiddyd coven’s aegis.

Now, when the young man looked from himself and back over to the hunter, he noticed how possessed the stranger seemed with him—an intense and unwavering gaze that could not break. The murkiness in those blue eyes was dangerous and foreign. Killing, almost. Felix had never seen it in anyone else other than Glenn, but that was only when he was with Ingrid.

Lust.

Felix quickly pulled down his shirt and threw the robe over his shoulder as the hunter laughed at the man’s flustered state. Still, he did not move, but the way his muscles laid taut beneath his uniform was aching with some sort of anticipation. In wait.

“Still, it’s rather dangerous to be sleeping here. What if you get eaten?” the hunter teased ruefully; he got down on one knee so his eye level matched with Felix. “What are you doing here, my dear?”

“Just picking flowers,” Felix said slowly, cautiously, trying his best not to show the rising panic in his voice.

The hunter’s smile curled up sharply, a face pent clearly with incredulous thought. “Flowers. In a place like this? Whatever for?”

“Do you own the fucking forest? No. Can’t a man pick some plants in peace?” Felix grunted irritatingly.

Why was this hunter so interested in him? Was it a common thing among men to be so inquisitive of strangers? Felix always thought such people kept to themselves—it’s not wise to approach strangers in the woods. And yet, this stranger emitted a certain feeling of arrogance, of power, that seemingly allowed him to walk and talk without any trepidation. Even now, it was as though he was a part of the forest—not an outsider or trespasser coming in, but a child birthed from the shadows and trees, stalking so naturally like the beasts the preyed in the night.

The hunter hummed softly. “No, I don’t own the forest. No one does. But it’s still bizarre to me that someone like you can casually pick flowers in one of the most dangerous places in the north.”

“I’m no child. I can handle myself just fine.”

“Do you live nearby?”

“What’s it to you? Do _you_ live nearby?”

“No, I don’t,” The hunter smiled a bit before standing up to his full height, hovering over Felix in six feet and two inches of tight, restrained muscle—a wolf looming over a rabbit in a field. There was something grasped tightly in the man’s hand, and Felix was able to catch a hilt of a sheathed sword—long fingers coiled around the base.

“I’m from a city nearby—Fhirdiad. Ever heard of it?”

“Yes,” Felix lied, feeling his blood flush to his head violently, practically pulsing at the top and threatening to burst. The flowers were spinning, the lights were flashing, and only the hunter with the sword of silver stood in the middle of the chaos.

“W-Why are you here?” he managed to sputter as he cradled his light head.

The hunter tilted his head curiously and grinned, bemused. “Searching.”

“What, for like deer or something?”

“Witches.”

Witches. Felix already knew the answer but he tried his best to swallow down the absolute terror in his voice. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t shrink away from his duties, the shield would have been fully restored. The small open pockets had allowed a witch hunter into their community, an open gate for a wolf to the sleeping flock. Felix had to correct this—fast, or else his entire coven would be killed.

He took a deep sigh and stared back at the hunter, those dark blue eyes, swirling with emotions too roaring and malevolent for any man of civilization.

“I haven’t seen any,” Felix said simply, clutching the soft fabric of his robe to his chest. “You might find more luck elsewhere—I always come here to pick flowers and I never once saw a witch.”

“Really? Not one?”

“Not one.”

Neither of the men spoke; they stared at each other and allowed the silence of the forest to slip between them. Glenn always told Felix that silence was unnatural to the woods, that it was always safer with some sounds—wind, birds, animals.

But complete silence was deadly. It suggested something beyond nature, something stalking and in wait for a kill. Then the hunter smiled, a gleam shone faintly from his hip.

“Oh,” the hunter grinned with teeth, “but what of the one in front of me?”

Felix shot up, magic already frizzling erratically at his fingertips—the silver was drawn first in a violent flash, and the young witch screamed as hot, sheering steel pierced through his right hand and pinned him down into the field. Blood splurged in long dashes onto the white of the flowers with the sword digging deep into the ground.

He cried out in a gurgled, choking sound, blinked through his hot tears, and stared into the shadowed face of the witch hunter above him. The man was right on top of him, leaning over until their faces were inches apart; his hand grasped the sword tightly while his strong knee trapped Felix’s free hand painfully to the ground.

Felix was trapped on all sides, his hand pierced so painfully that all the magic hissed out like steam from the open, bleeding wound. His other hand strained itself from the pressed weight of the hunter’s knee that he could not even cast a spell if he wanted to. All he could do is groan from the sheering pain and cry—tears already brimming at his amber eyes.

The hunter smiled at the sight with his teeth showing, and he leaned in until their noses practically touched—Felix noticed how utterly murky the man’s eyes were, like a beast blinded by an overwhelming blood lust.

“I’m not a witch,” Felix choked and turned his head away from the hunter’s stare—the man’s free hand shot out and grabbed his chin, forcing him right into his brutal gaze.

“Really? Then explain the hex you cast on me,” the hunter growled darkly.

“H-Hex? What hex? I didn’t do shit to you!”

The sword sunk deeper into the ground and Felix screamed—he began to sob openly, red cheeks wet with overwhelming, dripping tears. A look of sick pleasure torn across the hunter’s face, lust ebbing from the eyes alone. He gave a small, calming laugh and grinned.

“Liar. I knew exactly who you were the minute I saw you here, sleeping. A siren—a tempter. Do you think you could manipulate me? I think not.”

“I swear, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Felix cried, breathing so quickly he thought he would run out of air.

The hunter narrowed his eyes and sneered. “Ignorance—so typical for your kind. I am not one to be swayed by unholy beauty so you must have done something. But your plans are in ruins for I will not let you win.”

“What do you—”

Felix choked on his words. The cold hand of his captor traveled down from his chin and over to where his undershirt was torn during the short assault. A chilly breeze kissed his exposed chest and he shivered when the hunter’s fingers possessively caressed the skin, turning pink from the touch. Something cold pinched one of his nipples and Felix turned his head away and hissed. A dangerous smile cut into him from above and a hot voice settled near his ear.

“Teasing little thing—thought you could escape my grasp, did you?” The hunter muttered with a breathy laugh as his hand twisted and pulled gently, earning a small gasp from the witch. “That I would fall for your mind-controlling hex and become a slave? Such a poor move, my dear.”

“Please, I swear, I didn’t do anything—”

Felix groaned and bit his tongue until he tasted blood. The hunter’s cold hand drew downward, feeling the flatness of his stomach—fingers delicately curling around the incline of his pelvis.

Three different emotions was tearing through him at once: the throbbing pain in his stabbed hand from the sword, the shaking panic that was suffocating his breathing, and a final third and unfamiliar feeling that laid dormant somewhere deep within. It started out dull, but when the man’s hand tore Felix’s pants away, that feeling soared to new heights.

He cried out a bit, more out of surprise for the sudden exposure, and practically teared up when the hunter forced his legs wide—strong twitching fingers pressing softly at his wet entrance. Felix hitched his voice as blood rushed to his arousal and he gasped as it slowly got erect. A proud, laughing smile from above.

“Already? Did you get excited for me, my dear?” the hunter growled.

“Fuck you,” Felix spat out in a strangled voice.

“You first.”

The three fingers pressed in all at once—stretching him wide and nearly splitting him in half. His breathing heightened rapidly until he lost complete control—hyperventilating while sobbing uncontrollably among the flowers; the blood from his hand stained the ground red, and he lost all feeling in his other hand.

Everything was hot like sheering fire, and he was burning from the bottom to the top. Quiet chanting, soft and crazed pleads, and Glenn’s name left his lips like a mad man’s ramblings.

And then, a moment. Just a moment where the hunter paused and stared very softly at Felix. Something flickered upon his sharp, sardonic face—something almost human, and he bent down and pressed his lips against the witch’s.

As opposed to everything around him, the kiss was oddly soft and gentle, a warmth not present before; Felix groaned, opening his mouth a bit and was met with an invading tongue. The other man hummed pleasantly into the kiss, placing sharp little bites all along the lips.

A wet hotness twitched at Felix’s entrance, his walls curling around the hunter’s fingers until the pain faded away to a strange and rising dullness. _Fullness_ as the hunter began to shallowly thrust, and once in a while, brushing up against a certain spot in Felix that made him visibly shiver. He found himself moaning along, the dullness turning inward of itself to hot and aching pleasure—even overwhelming that of his hand wound.

Felix didn’t understand it—what was happening to his own body, betraying him to the slow act of killing of the hunter. This never happened before and all these feelings were so new and fresh to the young man that he could only react to them with breathy noises.

The fingers pulled out, the slickness coasting his ass and he actually groaned from the _emptiness_.

“Don’t worry,” the hunter whispered lovingly and unclasped a belt around his pants. He peered down at the witch—this exhausted creature with painfully red cheeks, stained with tears, and a body pink and bruised purple with a bloody pinned hand. Felix’s erection was twitching with precum, the tip purple from neglect. He smiled and licked his lips. “I’ll take care of you—you’re mine.”

The hunter’s cock sprang from his pants and Felix’s eyes widened at the sight of it. It was huge—too big to fit inside of him and he started panicking again.

“No, please, it won’t fit,” he gasped in short and choking breaths. The hunter cooed at him sweetly and pressed right into his hole—just the tip and forced himself in. Felix’s frantic chokes evolved into a strained scream; the hunter smothered him with more biting kisses, and even sucking hungrily on the white skin of his exposed neck.

“Fuck, you feel hot—so fucking tight,” he growled into the nape and snapped his hips in.

Once the hunter’s entire length was all the way in, brushing right up against the prostate, he moved all the way out and thrust back in again with vigor. Shallow, rough, and hard thrusts as Felix’s face paled from the overwhelming pain and fell completely silent.

His throat was red from screaming, every breath an agonizing sting through his lungs, and yet, despite the absolute violation of his body, he could not ignore the heat growing at the tip of his cock, the pit of his stomach. A soft sound escaped Felix’s lips and he began to moan loudly, panting like an animal in heat.

“You still had your maidenhead? I never took such a seductive creature to be a virgin,” the hunter laughed lightly, plunging violently into the young man. He cried out, toes curling up against the dirt. “Maybe it was a bad idea to cast such an intoxicating spell on me, not realizing the consequences of your actions.”

“I...I didn’t…” Felix muttered like a drunk. He closed his eyes, unconsciously meeting the hunter’s thrusts with his hips. It was too big—impaling him in half like a sacrificial goat; it nailed his prostate hard, forcing another weak scream out of him. But the pleasure was too much and it was making him absolutely dizzy with euphoria.

The hunter’s cock twitched inside Felix as he drifted into a faster, violent pace; he hiked a leg up, a and gripped the thigh tightly, enough to bruise. He struck into the young man and right into his prostate with a heated yearning.

“Please, please, it’s too much—I can’t take it,” Felix gasped wildly as his cock bounced against his stomach. The wet noises of skin slapping against skin filled the quiet atmosphere, and the young man was choking dryly again. “Finish this, get it over, please!”

“Almost there. I can feel it, almost—” the hunter roared out as he completely emptied out into Felix’s stomach. Hot juices overflowed into the smaller man, and the amber of his eyes glowed brightly as he felt himself getting filled up—his own cock shooting spent all over his face and chest.

Felix’s body sunk against the soil and he laid very still as the hunter finished off with a few more shallow thrusts and pulled out slowly—Felix’s walls being dragged slightly out with a wet _pop_ at the entrance.

The hunter chuckled, satisfied, and gently pulled the sword out from the witch’s bleeding hand. The pain was nothing compared to the exhaustion Felix was experiencing, an emptiness that would not leave him. A gentle hand caressed his wet face, small kisses peppered along his marked neck.

“You’re such a prize. How could I let you go after this?” the hunter murmured against the skin. “Don’t worry, little one. Once I have taken care of the rest of your coven, I’ll take you back with me and make you mine.”

Felix slowly opened his fatigued eyes and stared at the dancing lights on the canopy. Something dangerously hot flashed in his mind and he scowled weakly.

“Think...again…”

“Pardon?” the hunter quipped and lifted his head up.

At that moment, Felix took his bloody hand—hot, scorching magic flaring from the open wound, and he slapped it directly into the hunter’s right eye. The blood boiled over from the sudden fire that expelled from the palm and the man howled in pain. He threw himself off of the witch and crumpled onto the ground. He held the right side of his face, smoke coming out of scarred flesh as though he had been struck with a fire poker.

Felix did not stick around long enough to enjoy the show. The last bits of adrenaline soared through his body and he staggered off like an animal wounded from a hunt. He just picked a direction and ran, ignoring the dark voice that called out to him from the flower field. He kept running until the shadows of the forest shielded him lovingly, the moon light peering out from the trees. And he kept running until he collapsed on the porch of Glenn and Ingrid’s hut.

His brother’s panicked voice shouted in different degrees of pain, a strong body lifting him up and settling him somewhere warm, familiar, and safe. But Felix did not listen to any of it: the only voice that echoed in his mind was that of the hunter’s.

This wicked and sharp drawl from a man so taken over by pained laughter. And the words of a haunting spirit seeking vengeance.

“I will find you.”

_________

It was Glenn’s decision for the entire coven to relocate.

While this was an idea that floated around the air since they were boys—first voiced by their mother who warned the last generation of frequent hunter sightings outside of the forest, Glenn finally wanted to put it in motion.

For one, the Black Frost forest was too close to Fhirdiad, the capital city of the north, and the heart of the witch hunter’s society. All of the other covens moved southward to isolated forests while the Blaiddyd coven remained dangerously close to the realm of man.

However, the witches believed in the protection of their aegis. But, for the first time in years, the aegis’ magic was getting weaker—something Felix quietly despaired over, and that the shield would be too much to maintain in the future.

It was wavering, flickering in and out, and ready to give out at any moment.

Felix was too weak to fix it at this point and by the time he recovered, the shield would have been dispelled, forcing him to cast an entirely new one. And that alone would take too much time.

The night where the young witch collapsed on the doorsteps of his brother, thoroughly violated with blood trailing between his legs and hand, Glenn knew that it was time.

The Blaiddyd coven, for years, has always been the weaker of their neighbors, due to their reliance on the shield. And while this dulled the fangs of their magic, especially no longer finding use in destructive elements as Glenn often favored, life was simple and well for them. Now they understood: if the hunters were to locate them, none of them—save the younger generation would be able to defend themselves.

Felix was disturbingly quiet throughout the whole change: everyone sensed that he was still traumatized over his encounter with the hunter at the flower fields, even more so with the shield failing. A keen sense of failure that turned into a deep and aching self-loathing, which he punished himself with silence and bitterness. That and the young witch had been having strange dreams about the hunter ever since. Dreams he told no one about, not even Annette whom he shared everything with.

Glenn had visited him on the day before the entire coven was set out to leave. Their destination was to travel down and join with the Remire coven, a strong and powerful coven settled down south. Everyone was clearing out their homes for the move with Felix’s hut being the furthest away near the shield. He never minded being so isolated from the rest of the community—too much noise and socialization always tired him, though he wished Glenn and Ingrid lived closer.

Glenn never knocked; he was not polite in that sense. And he always took long and confident strides into Felix’s house as though they still lived together with mother back in the old days.

He peered into his brother’s room, finding the young witch’s back turned to the door. Felix was leaning over an alchemy table. There were vials and vials of white-blue potions placed nearly in a box, and he was grinding winter flowers harshly with a mortar and pestle—he did not look over his shoulder, but he knew Glenn was there.

“How’s Ingrid?” he grunted nonchalantly.

Glenn hummed and slinked over to Felix’s now-stripped bed. He sat down rather tensely, signaling that his visit was hardly social. But he answered regardless.

“Always craving. The baby has been stressing her out for the last few weeks.”

“Do you think she’s due soon?”

“Mercedes says that we should be good for the next two weeks—though it could come early.”

Felix stopped momentarily, a passing thought paralyzing him, and he resumed a bit more quietly. “Should we post-pone the move then? Maybe after the baby?” he suggested, trying not to sound too worried.

“I don’t know if we have the grace of time. The shield looks like it’s about to give out any second. And besides, Remire is not that far—she’ll be able to give the baby there safely.”

“I tried restoring it this morning…”

“Don’t sweat it, Fe. That stupid thing always needed constant juices. It’s what killed mama in the end.” He shook his head morosely. “I can’t blame you for falling behind, especially due to the...never mind.”

“What? Just say it,” Felix grunted and felt the pestle slam down harshly into the flower paste. Bits splattered on his shirt but he ignored it bitterly. He did not want to turn around to the face of pity from his own brother. Glenn was always so blunt—why was he sidestepping now? “I’m damaged goods,” he concluded.

“No, that’s not---”

“My magic...it’s getting weaker. That stupid shield’s been sucking out my energy since mother died, and now I can’t even summon a ward without feeling queasy. It won’t be long until I’m out dry and dead on the ground somewhere.”

“Felix, you really need to stop saying such shit,” Glenn chided humorless, his throat tight with anger. He never yelled, never showed his temperament in the most open of ways. Everything was about control with him. But even Felix sensed the shakiness in his voice.

The older brother sighed and buried his face in his hands. Felix stopped in his alchemy and finally turned around, hesitantly. The mood turned somber, too tense for either one of the men to stay rather comfortably. Perhaps it was because they both knew what was coming up next.

“Felix. I need to know more about the hunter that attacked you,” Glenn stated firmly with an edged tone—no room for discussion, just simple answers.

The younger brother closed his eyes. Dreams of the hunter had haunted him since that day, and he lost so much sleep and energy from it all that he had resorted to waiting until absolute exhaustion forced him down.

“What do you need to know?”

“What did he look like?”

“Tall—taller than us, really. And I’m guessing all of them have the same blue uniform with the black and white long coat—armored plates, gauntlets. The usual sword and crossbow—you know.”

Glenn’s eyes widened and his usual cool face paled with worry. “Blue uniform?”

“Yeah, this big ass long coat with some fur at the collar. Scariest thing I ever have seen.” When Felix noticed the sudden quietness that overtaken his brother, he walked over and sat down next to him. “What? You think it was a bad fashion choice too?”

“Felix,” Glenn uttered slowly, his voice too dark for humor. He shook his head in absolute disbelief and met with the fretful gaze of the younger man. “I think you just encountered the Butcher.”

Felix blinked rapidly.

“T-The what now?”

“The Butcher of Blaiddyd. An infamous witch hunter from Fhirdiad. He’s one of the order’s most fear and powerful hunters, single-handedly responsible for the eradication of many covens in the north.”

“You have to be exaggerating. As if a single hunter can wipe out entire communities,” Felix scoffed lightly, trying to hide the obvious panic in his voice. Glenn’s dour expression was frightening him alone, but his words brought to light the dread he felt that day—a hunter leagues above in strength, oozing with danger.

“Can a single wolf be capable to slaughtering flocks?” Glenn shot back harshly. “Ingrid and I have been studying the hunters who pass through the area—many of them are dangerous, but the Butcher is the one we have been tracking exclusively. And for a good reason—we lost the entire Fraldarius coven last year because of him.”

Felix swallowed: he heard of the massacre from Ingrid herself. The two covens had been close since the fated exile from the cities. Fraldarius often traded with them as their territory had more bountiful animals like deer and rabbits, and they sent friendly messages with crows every other day. And then, one day, the messages stopped.

Glenn and Ingrid set out to investigate and came back in the middle of the night, distraught.

The entire community, torn apart and gutted like the aftermath of a beast’s rage. Bodies pinned to the trees with silver bolts through the mouth; some were beheaded, carrying their own heads in their laps, dull blue eyes peering up the sky. And more unrecognizable were sliced open and left to rot among the parasites. Only a woman survived—at least long enough to provide the Blaiddyd coven with information on their killer before passing away to her wounds.

A single hunter, moving across the forest like a tempest. None of their spells were able to strike him down. The incident spread among the other covens— _Scarlet Sunday_ , they called it, before evicting further out south, away from Fhirdiad.

Only Blaiddyd remained, foolishly dependent on their shield.

“It can’t be—he was responsible for that disaster?” Felix asked with a shudder.

Glenn nodded. “And many more. We have reports of covens existing around the Gautier region being wiped out in the night. A hunter with a blue long coat—furs of black and fur.”

“How do we know my hunter just...have the same fashion sense? It is the north…”

“Does he have blonde hair and blue eyes.”

Felix lost his words. But that was all Glenn needed to know.

“I’m surprised he did not kill you. From what I was told, the Butcher is one to strike first without so much as a single word.”

“It was all a sick, twisted game to him. Maybe it was because I was the only one there,” Felix offered weakly though he already known the reason for the Butcher’s refusal to outright murder him.

_I knew exactly who you were the minute I saw you here, sleeping. A siren—a tempter._

Something deep within him shivered both with pain and pleasure, and Felix suddenly felt sick.

Glenn wrapped a strong arm around his younger brother, a grip too tight for comfort, and he leaned in with a shuddering sigh. “We’re going to leave by dusk—use the night to our advantage. The Butcher will be back soon and I cannot risk losing any of us to that creature. Especially you.”

Felix nudged him away rather playfully. “Focus on your incredibly pregnant wife and the baby she’s carrying, you fool. Traveling all the way to Remire is going to be tough for her.”

“Don’t pity her—-she hates that. Don’t you worry about Ingrid, she’s a strong lady and we will be with her the entire way.”

“And the Remire coven is fine with taking us in?”

Glenn nodded simply. “They’re in need of some more...softer magic witches. We have a lot of healers and specialists in our coven that will be useful for them.”

“Like me?”

“You don’t have to do anything. Felix. I would hate to have to see you overexert yourself each day to an early grave,” Glenn admitted morosely and regarded him with kind eyes. “But it would be nice if you taught them ward magic. It’s always useful.”

“I suppose so,” Felix muttered and stared down at his bandaged hand.

It healed nicely under Mercedes’ magic, though she was unable to get rid of the jagged, red scar it left behind—a reminder of him. In truth, he was doing all he could to distract himself from that memory—constant work, studying, mixing potions for the long trip ahead of him. But it did little to deter him from the incredibly vivid dreams he had each night.

Dreams of powerful, strong hands grasped tightly at his bare hips until it stung and the hot, wet invasion impaling him fully. A possessive mouth bit into the softness of his skin, all along his neck and shoulders, nibbling at the nipples hungrily. Every dream felt too real, too raw, and Felix always woke up the same: his sheets stained from excitement and his eyes slightly red from crying.

Felix was being killed all over again, and some strange part inside of him wanted it.

He hated himself.

_________

It was a cold night when the entire coven gathered in the field.

The plan was for them to travel as far as the woods could take them down south until they reached the main traveler’s road. Glenn had planned on securing horses on some of the nearby farms for easier travel.

When Felix looked upon the sight of Glenn’s wife, Ingrid, her stomach bulging out from her maternity dress, he knew they needed transportation now before the winter chill got to her. Glenn stayed close beside her, securing a heavy satchel over his shoulder—emergency supplies in case something happened.

Since the journey was far, everyone could only bring a small satchel—some food, potions, and personal belongings. The more older members of their coven, too weak to be left alone, brought extra energy potions for the long walk ahead along with heavier blankets for warmth.

Felix only brought all the potions he made—a natural paranoia from his duties as the aegis, and a long dagger his late mother left him. His hut was always so empty, without much livelihood and warmth. He had nothing precious there to take anyway.

Annette, the perky red headed wonder child whom Felix grew close when he first got introduced to the coven was surveying the ground with a small flame glowing between her palms. She was the coven’s fire witch, with more explosive magic than Glenn could even muster. But it was always spontaneous and hard to control, often erupting in different parts of the forest during the day. However, she was capable to expelling small bouts of it like a torch if she really concentrated. The girl counted everyone around them, eyes tracing over in a nervous bout.

“I think that’s everyone,” she stated, turning around to Glenn. “We better hurry since it looks like the shield is going to collapse at any moment.”

The head witch nodded solemnly and turned to the group. There were not many of them, at least in terms of a full coven. Many of the members passed away in the previous years quite naturally—a rarity for their kind. But their size was still enough where a journey with this many people would be difficult. Felix took one last look back up through the small openings of the canopy. The stars were out, a full moon shining overhead, and the faint, blue glow of his shield flickering towards death. He had ventured out earlier and tried to mend it, only for his magic to hiss out weakly into the ward with no signs of improvement. Something broke inside of him—Felix knew this. He used to be so good at this and now he failed his own people. The best he could do is hang his head and stay quiet.

“Alright.” Glenn clasped his hands together. “Remire is but a three-day journey from here. Our travels there will be hard and treacherous, but let us do all we can to support each other. And remember, stick together, and if a stranger starts asking questions, leave the answering to me and Mercedes, understood?”

Mercedes, the benevolent witch who was also the coven’s healer had a knack for mind magic and was able to sweet-talk her way out of trouble. Too often did Felix fall for her saintly words, drifting mindlessly to her orders of tea parties and cool afternoons outside. She stood near Annette and pressed a cold compress to the younger witch’s head.

“There is a farm outside of the Black Frost forest. We would be able to secure but a few horses and then continue down the road. And remember—we’re pilgrims visiting the local monastery and nothing else. Agreed?”

A unison of hooded heads nodded to each other and to their leader with a nervous rapture. Everyone was clutching to each other for warmth and Felix could not blame them. For the first time since the exile, the Blaiddyd coven was finally leaving their territory, now merely refugees in an unknown, unloving land. But it was still a better fate than to continue living so close to the capital city.

“Okay, let’s get a move on—”

Something sharp whizzed past them.

Felix heard it sing malevolently in the wind as it barely slashed the edge of his cheek and struck right into Glenn’s left shoulder. Everyone’s eyes widened as the witch cried out and crumpled against his wife, bleeding. She held him closely, switching between absolute moral panic and awe. Something shined brightly from his shoulder.

A silver bolt.

Felix immediately spun around; in the darkness of the forest, they heard footsteps. A slow and decisive stride of a predator. The gleam of armor shining in the moonlight like a knife, long blue overcoat draped over a strong, taut body, and a smile to kill.

It was him, the golden haired lion that ate him up that fateful day. Yet, there was a feeling, a terribly cruel dread that made the entire coven shiver with fright, especially Felix. The hunter’s face, still as sharp, was partially burned off on one side with the right eye gone. Just a black, empty socket left over. Felix’s heart stopped in realization of his own escape—that he only managed to fuel an inner strength and blood lust of a one-eyed demon.

The hunter stopped just a few feet away at the clearing, his remaining eye glowing bright blue in the darkness. He scanned the frightened group before his gaze landed right on Felix. Gleeful violence flooded his expression darkly, a man possessed with ravenous hunger and he smiled daggers.

“Salutations.”

It was Annette who casted the first spell. The small witch from the cover of her taller peers shot out a ball of flames that struck the ground in front of the Butcher. It collided with the grass and burst out like a fallen star—ash and flames exploding all around them, forming a wall between the coven and the hunter. Ingrid’s strong voice carried over the screams, a strong command surged with energy, and everyone began to run. Felix dashed alongside the group, peering over to see Glenn recovering from his wound—though still in intense pain, and ushered his wife along.

Felix, in the great chaos all around him, looked over his shoulder—just for a second. A figure in the flames illuminated so brightly, he could see every expression come to life on the butcher’s face. And it was neither pain nor anger.

He was smiling— _Amusement._

And then he rose his hand and threw something small on the ground with a crash. The flames began to flicker with death and die away as if rainfall had suddenly come to drench their violence. Felix saw how suddenly icy the ground became.

“Keep fucking running!” he commanded with a hoarse voice, striding behind the more elderly witches as the coven flooded deeper into the pitch blackness of the woods. They followed Annette’s fire, which braved itself in the darkness. Even as their lungs stung and burned, no one stopped.

Felix was not sure how far behind the Butcher was nor if he was even chasing them. All that mattered was to make sure the Blaiddyd coven would not face the same fate as their neighbors.

He managed to keep the older witches up, and he searched blindly for Mercedes, Annette, Ingrid, or Glenn. Annette’s torch lit dimly ahead, but it was the only guiding force in the bleak darkness of the forest. Mercedes is somewhere beside him, panting nervously. He heard the small, pained grunts of his older brother up ahead though it sounded like he was keeping up just fine. Ingrid, despite her heavy pregnancy, was the one encouraging everyone along.

The trees loomed over and spread out endlessly with no signs of ending; there were too many bushes and foliage hiding all along in the darkness—logs and fall tree branches on the wet ground. Sharp branches tore at Felix’s clothes and left shallow welts along his arms and legs, and even as he tripped momentarily on a surfaced tree root, he kept running.

He heard silver bolts being shot out from a place somewhere far back and whizzed past him a few times like a bird in flight. The witches kept running and Felix saw a momentarily flash of a light ebbed from Glenn’s hand as he cast a trap spell on the ground. It would not be enough to save them, but buying them time was more than favorable.

Further up ahead, through where the trees began to open up and disperse, Felix spotted a small cluster of old, caved-in houses, overgrown with moss—an abandoned village. The coven nearly fell over with a haggard, dying breath at the village’s entrance, bodies so stretched past their limits that any more running will kill them. Felix collapsed against the wooden sign post—fire scorching his lungs. He could not run anymore, his legs practically water beneath him.

And then they heard Annette’s scream.

Felix whipped his head at the sight of the young witch on the ground, her face covered in sweat and muck—her legs bleeding, as she frantically backed away from the forest entrance. A flash of silver shone hungrily in the darkness and it flew at the girl.

“No!” Felix shot up with a sudden surge of overwhelming and pulsing power.

His hands threw up and electrifying magic exploded violently from the stinging palms of his hands. A flash of bright light, brighter than of them have experienced before, and the entire area turned pure, hot white.

A moment of blindness.

Then it faded slowly, tinkling back to a throbbing vision. The coven blinked rapidly and rubbed their eyes from the stinging pain. Felix felt the cool ground beneath him and he lifted himself up and looked to Annette. The witch was unharmed, but she was breathing heavily, staring off at something with wide eyes of awe. Felix hesitantly followed her gaze and his heart stopped.

A blue ward glowed gently in front of them with patterns of electricity running around the surface, and it covered the small village in an active dome. A shield. Felix—somehow, in his panic, had cast a small shield. And standing right outside was the Butcher.

He had held his silver crossbow over his shoulder and whistled rather impressively at the shield, even giving it a few kicks for good measure. It pulsed from the touch, waves of magic bounding throughout like oceanic waves. But it did not waver.

Felix almost cried and kissed his hands. So he was not so useless after all.

“Fe, thank you,” Annette stuttered from where she laid.

Mercedes hobbled over and helped the poor girl up on her feet as Felix pushed himself up. Glenn stumbled over and nudged his brother proudly—his hand clutching his bleeding shoulder. It was a moment of small relief where the entire coven caught breath and massaged their weary legs. But as of most moments in Felix’s life, it was always fleeting and short-lived.

“Ah, so you’re the aegis,” the Butcher stated with arched brow. He rapped his knuckles against the shield and grinned tightly. “You’re just full of fun, little surprises, aren’t you?”

Felix frowned. “Don’t think you’re getting in—no amount of damage can knock it down!” he spat out proudly.

“You heard him, you bastard. So why don’t you give up and just leave,” Glenn added harshly.

This just made the Butcher smiled even more and he broke out into a strong laugh. “Leave? Now, why would I do that? It’s not like you can leave either without the shield going down.”

“What? Are you actually going to wait us out? You’re fucking insane.”

“No offense, my dear, but I don’t think your little group will be moving at all,” he said and nodded towards something behind them. Felix turned and saw Ingrid. She was leaning against Mercedes, clutching onto her full stomach. Beads of sweat formed around her forehead and she was breathing frantically, shaking almost.

“The baby…” Glenn muttered hoarsely.

“Safe to say, I believe we reached a stalemate,” the Butcher quipped in a laughing voice. He smiled softly, eyes flushing over. “But I can wait.”

“Well, so can we,” Felix growled back in challenge and plopped himself down right in front of the shield for emphasis. “Don’t underestimate me. I have kept that gigantic shield in the forest going for the last five years. Something this small is nothing to me.”

“Oh? Well, I certainly hope you have the resources to keep your magic flowing for the next few days or feed all the members of your coven,” his enemy suggested lightly and sat down in front of Felix with only the ward separating them.

Fuck.

It was Glenn who pulled Felix aside towards in the middle of the village. As expected, everything was abandoned with the houses overgrown and the rest of the facilities empty and useless. Only the well nearby actually had water, probably from the many showers of rain that passed by the forest. So at the very least, the coven would not go thirsty. But then there was the matter of food. And Felix’s own upkeep of the shield that separated their flock from the wolf. And he knew, he would not last long under these conditions.

“What’s the plan then? We just wait it out?” Felix asked his brother who was getting healed by Mercedes’ magic. The older man stiffened at the touch before sinking back in relief gray eyes riveting over to Felix wearily.

“Annette counted all of our supplies. With everything combined, we should last a week. But this is a major set back—we can’t go anywhere with the Butcher outside our door or Ingrid...she’s set to give birth soon.” Glenn blinked through his exhaustion. “W-We decided to give you all of our energy potions.”

“Glenn no---”

“Listen: We need the shield up for as long as we can. At least until the baby. We cannot risk the hunter coming in here while all of us are vulnerable. I know I brag on about my magic but I’m hardly a match for an experience hunter like him.” The older man grasped a tight hand around his brother’s shoulder and he bumped foreheads with him. “I know I’m asking so much of you to continue maintaining the shield, but I promise I’ll come up with a plan.”

“No, I understand,” Felix corrected quietly. “I was expecting to keep the damn thing up anyway. But Ingrid and Mercedes and you...so many others need the potions more.”

“Fe, they’re not the ones who have to slave away the next few days to protect us. Take the potions.”

“And what do we do about the Butcher? He’ll kill us once we run out of supplies.”

The older brother closed his eyes and frowned. “I’m still thinking...”

“Maybe we can wait him out? He’ll have to leave eventually to hunt and get water, right?” Felix asked hopefully.

“Maybe.” But Glenn did not sound too confident.

Behind them at the village entrance, the Butcher was still there, staring off at a flock of sheep too far obtainable to him. But the best predators are patient. Oh so very patient.

_________

Felix was not lying about his dedication to keeping the shield up for as long as he could. The first thing he did when the coven got situated in the village was sit down right at the entrance—ignoring the widen look of pleasure from the Butcher and placed both hands on the ward. It was still going strong and if it began to weaken at all, Felix would know immediately.

Beside him were all the potions given to him by the others, enough for the next few days. Some food was also there alongside a bowl of water. Annette had thrown a blanket his way and Felix was beginning to suspect that he had formed a mini nest for himself.

In the back, Mercedes managed to find an open house not locked into itself by wild foliage and had prepared a spot for Ingrid to lie down. The woman was getting worse by the second, the coming of child would soon plague the small space between them with screams. Glenn was always by her side but looked up and over once in a while to his baby brother.

Felix did not know how long this siege would last. They had enough food for a week but the potions would only last him a few days. Not to mention that they still needed to make the journey to Remire. And then there was the Butcher.

The hunter sat with his head perched on his hand, his only blue eye regarding Felix softly—almost with affection. But the witch knew better. It was amusement that guided this killer, and Felix’s own efforts was just entertainment for him before the kill.

Felix wondered how they were going to get out of this one; once the shield collapses, they would have to make another run for it—the only capable fighters were Glenn, himself, and Annette. But Annette’s magic was hard to control, he knew was the physically weaker than the Butcher, and Glenn already seemed confident that the wolf waiting outside was beyond their league. And what of Ingrid’s baby? Another run would be too risky if something happened.

The low, deep voice called out to him and he realized that it was his own name.

“What?” Felix stuttered to the Butcher sitting mere inches away from him.

The man chuckled. “Felix. That’s your name, right? I heard the others call you that.”

The witch did not reply, only giving off a stark, cold gaze.

“It’s a very pretty name,” he continued and then waited a bit, before asking. “Would you like to know my name?”

“No—beasts don’t need names. I wouldn’t want to get attached to you,” Felix snapped angrily, tugging the blanket around his body for warmth.

“That’s a good point,” the Butcher said. There was something odd about his voice, the way his words uttered out slowly in a sort of melancholic drift. It almost seemed sad. Almost. But Felix did not want to entertain the idea that such a vicious killer was capable of feeling anything but blood lust.

He curled up into a little ball and watched the shield dutiful, ignoring the longing stare from his unwanted companion. It had begun to rain again, a light sprinkles dripping down to the earth. Felix was getting cold, but he was already used to the feeling.

“Why can’t you leave us alone?” he muttered angrily. “Do you like seeing us huddled like broken animals? Your so-called enemies are nothing more than women and the elderly. Why the fuck do you still insist on killing us?!”

“Because it’s my duty,” the Butcher said simply.

“Bullshit!” Felix snapped.

“Well, it was what I was raised to believe. Were you not raised to practice magic and protect your coven from people like me? We are simply following what we believe in. And I believe in your deaths.”

“Fuck you! If that’s what you believed in, then why didn’t you kill me the first time?!”

The Butcher said nothing. He continued to stare at Felix unflinchingly, but he was not smiling anymore. There was none of the usual humor written anywhere on his face or any indication as to what he was feeling. Just an unreadable, cold blankness.

And for some reason, that scared Felix the most.

_________

It was the first day of the siege where Felix woke up to Ingrid’s pained screams and the shield wavered in front of him. He cursed loudly as he lifted himself off the ground and planted his hands on the ward. It had already started to give out in the evening, strained from long hours, and Felix had exhausted himself quite a bit restoring it back.

In the back, Annette and Glenn were rushing to aid Mercedes with supplies for Ingrid—it sounded like she was close to giving birth, her absolute shattering screams sending chills down Felix’s back. Mercedes was here—she would survive this. It was just a matter of caring for the baby and keeping the hunter outside at bay.

“You’re going to be an uncle—aren’t you excited?” the Butcher quipped playfully. He had hunted and cooked earlier, appearing much more refreshed than the last day.

“I will be once we get away from you,” he muttered darkly.

Felix’s head was spinning slightly as the last bits of his magic left his fingertips. He reached over and popped off another vial of energy potion down his throat, his fifth one since yesterday. All this consumption was wearing him down even with the bits of food Annette kept passing him.

“I can’t blame your dedication. It’s admirable,” the Butcher said with a smile. “You know, this is the first time I ran across a challenge. Usually, my hunts end rather quickly for my taste.”

“Really?” Felix asked incredulously. “What covens have you been facing? Ones made of children?”

“Ah, have you ever faced a barrage of electricity spells at once? As if a thunderstorm swirled right on the ground. It’s rather scary, you know. I thought I was going to die.”

“You’re telling me that a coven of storm witches is easier than _this_?” he knocked the back of his hand against the shield and frowned.

The Butcher shrugged sheepishly. “The order...did not train us to handle softer magic...like yours.”

Felix snorted and swelled with pride. “That’s your own damn fault. Don’t assume we all cast fireballs and summon storms. You should have studied more on all fields.”

“That’s why you’re quite the treat, aren’t you? Not much of a fighter like your red-headed friend there, but this, this is something,” he murmured, peering all up and down the ward with an inquisitive eye. “A mystery, really. Maybe that’s why we could not locate your coven, though this forest is hell to navigate.”

“It was my adopted mother’s art—she trained me before she died. And I think my grandmother was the one who taught her.”

“Adopted?” The Butcher stopped smiling and frowned. What was it about this man who stopped from his usual dangerous cheeriness that frightened Felix. “You’re adopted?”

“Yes?” Felix replied hesitantly—why should that matter? “My brother and I were left in the forest to die and she took us in.”

“And she was a part of the coven?”

“The aegis of it back then. And now I’m the one pumping out magic to protect my family.”

“I thought all witches were naturally born into their covens.”

“What? You though magic was inheritable? Any sap can learn—it takes a real genius to actually use it,” Felix grunted smugly, trying his best not to look too overwhelmed.

The butcher fell silent; he blinked a few times and threw his head down to the ground. He was thinking—of what, Felix was not sure, but it was making him anxious by the second. Behind him, he could hear Ingrid screaming for the heavens; Glenn also screaming, no doubt, being squeezed to death by his strong-handed wife.

How Felix wished he could be back there to support her but the shield shivered a bit and he touched it, allowing more magic to flow out of his body. The Butcher watched the action closely.

“It...looks exhausting,” he observed without feeling.

“Definitely. That’s how she died,” Felix said softly. “I think that’s how all of them died. All of our coven’s aegises are overworked to an early grave. She was fairly young too.”

“If that is the case, why did you take on her role?”

“Everyone dies, idiot. I would rather die protecting my family—either much later or _now_ ,” Felix uttered, staring directly into the Butcher’s remaining blue eye.

A threat, one that hissed between them so feverishly, it was clear what he had meant. Felix brought his hands down from the shield after it stole the rest of his energy and he leaned his head against the ward for support. The young man’s breath came out in short, stinging bursts as trails of sweat dripped down his brow.

In the past, Felix never really suffered any terrible side effects from maintaining the coven’s shield before. But these recent years been slowly chipping away at him with every early morning he rose to take that meditative hour at the base of the ward, refilling it with his own magic. In fact, out of any of the witches in his coven, Felix was the one who wasted his magic out completely every single day.

This feeling, he keenly recognized, was a terrible one—Felix was dying.

Just like his mother before him, ward magic was slowly draining his life away. Felix was only twenty-three, though she was only in her mid-thirties when she died. Apparently, their grandmother died much younger at thirty. With this siege, Felix wondered if this where he would die.

Dark locks of his hair fell over his bright eyes and he slowly peered up to see the Butcher regarding him closely once again with an unreadable expression. The witch sneered with his teeth showing.

“Don’t look at me that way—you did this. I have no regrets taking out that eye of yours.”

“I did not expect you to,” the Butcher said, his characteristic sardonic smile plain on his face. He reached over and touched the scorched side of his face, where his eye socket was. The action alone seemed sentimental, no such resentment shown anywhere as Felix had expected.

“I’m impressed,” he continued gently, “that you would use your own blood to melt my eye off.”

“Maybe you should not have taken your eyes off of me,” Felix groaned.

“Don’t worry—I don’t make the same mistake twice.”

He did not smile.

The two men continued sitting, staring at each other from across the veil of magic as Ingrid’s screams filled the air.

_________

It was the second day when Ingrid and Glenn’s child was born to the brink of the day—a crying baby girl.

The happy father brought his baby over to her uncle, who still sat at the entrance dutifully. However, the young man could only lift his weaken, sleep-deprived head and smiled faintly at his niece before collapsing against the shield once more. The butcher was still sitting outside—he stared at the girl without a word.

By the time Felix had fully awoken, the shield was flickering once and again from existence; he downed another vial and imprinted his palms against the ward to refill it.

Annette had left him more food and water as she tended to the more elderly members of their coven. Mercedes was running around, trying to help Ingrid who had developed a fever after the birth.

And the Butcher was still outside, cutting up portions of food for the days ahead. He stared at Felix wordlessly, with the witch knowing full well that he had watched him sleep throughout the night.

None of them said a word, merely acknowledging their existence with a short nod. It was strange for Felix, that his initial antagonistic feelings towards the Butcher were not as strong as he had hope. In fact, the two men at this point were just watching one another curiously, two different worlds unexplored before.

And then Felix, after expelling most of his energy back into the shield, laid down in fatigue and stared dimly at his companion. The Butcher seemed to stop smiling these days.

“Why do you work alone? I thought...I heard you work in pairs,” he asked, remembering Glenn’s usual reports.

The Butcher tilted his head. “Apprentices and Junior Witch hunters work in pairs. Seniors are independent in the order.”

“And how long have you been doing...” Felix waved his hand around the village, around his coven. “This, exactly?”

“I think...ten years.”

“You started when you were a teenager? I’m assuming you’re close to my age.”

He nodded solemnly. “About fifteen when I joined the order. They took care of me, raised me, gave me the knowledge necessary to make it out here.”

Felix blinked. “Took care of? Wait, so did you live with them?”

“Yes—all of us did. Most hunters are orphans the order takes in. They give us a roof and a meal, and we give them witches.”

Felix noticed how monotone the Butcher spoke, as though he were reciting a rather boring passage from a book. Even his one eye seemed far away and detached.

No zealous passion oozed from him, no cries of heresy or evil as Felix expected. Glenn had said that most hunters were preachy religious figures. But this one treated it like a simple job.

“And you learned that witches were these supernatural, vicious beings that lived in the woods and cursed villages?” He quipped lightly.

The Butcher shrugged. “Just about. We were taught how to counter magic and kill your people properly. I don’t really care about all the ideals my order carries but I will perform as they ask.”

“W-Why? Why are you even with your order if you don’t even care about the stupid shit they preach about?” Felix inquired rather passionately and got up so their gazes could meet properly.

“Same reason why you’re with your coven. They raised me. Plus, I’m good at what I do. Isn’t that what matters?” The Butcher stated tightly. For the first time, some semblance of anger shone on his face, even if it was for a little bit, and he exhaled sharply. “I...I need to know.”

“Need to know what?” Felix asked.

“I need to know what hex you cast on me.”

The witch threw his hands up and nearly headbutted the shield out of irritation. “By whatever fucking god you worship, I didn’t cast a hex on you! It’s all in your head!”

“Exactly. You. You’re all in my head. This...this never happened before. I can’t stop thinking of you since I found you asleep. It’s been haunting my every dreams,” the hunter growled, narrowing his only eye to a think slit. “I...I can’t sleep.”

Felix could not sleep either. He wondered if they shared the same dreams. He sighed against the shield and closed his eyes.

“I promise, I did not cast anything on you,” Felix uttered, shaking his head. “Is that why you spared me that day? You thought I cursed you?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

When the Butcher said nothing, the witch took it as a sign for another hour of rest before refilling the shield again.

Something broke in his body—he could feel it. The more he forcibly tended to the ward, the more the pain was erupting in his stomach.

Felix lifted his head off from the ward only to feel something wet drip down to his lips. He reached out and touched it.

Blood.

_________

On the third day, Felix realized that he was dying.

He didn’t want to tell the others, especially Glenn who was tending to his sick wife and child. Ingrid was getting better but she was still weak from the birth. Some of the other coven members were getting sick as well, probably from sleeping outside for the last three days.

A plan by Annette was suggested: when the Butcher went off to hunt again, which usually was a short affair, Felix would let go of the shield and the gang would make a run for it with everything they had.

Of course, Felix pointed out that the Butcher would not need to leave anymore: he made portions of his last meal just so that he could stand waiting at the entrance.

His magic was failing him again. It took three vials to refill him fully, and the conversion to the shield was twice as much. Every time he touched the ward, his entire body was on the collapse of shutting down.

“You’re bleeding, Felix,” the Butcher said softly with a pained edge to it.

The witch licked his lips and tasted metallic. Earlier before, he coughed against the shield only to rose and saw splotches of red.

“Are you…” he started but fell away to silence. He already knew the answer, especially when Felix began hacking violently again.

Was this how mother died, being sucked away very slowly until she could stand no more? All Felix remembered was her bedridden form, a quiet woman paling with every minute as she grasped her son’s hand.

It was as cold as ice.

But then she fell asleep rather peacefully drifting away like a dream. And she never woke again.

Felix smiled briefly; he would like to die like her. Sleeping. It sounded painless and still. Quiet. “Glenn,” he uttered weakly to his brother whom he took nearly a minute to stagger to from his post.

The older brother’s face was so worn down and tired, Felix could see the gray hairs from beneath the black of his hair. He stared at Felix in silence. And for the first time since mother died, they languished in a shared and absolutely broken despair.

“I think...I think I am going to stay behind,” Felix wheezed out, clutching his chest. “The shield won’t last any longer...but I’m going to stay behind...”

“Did you ask Mercedes—“

“I did. Nothing can be done. Something broke inside of me. I wish it was just a leg wound or something,” he said in a rare joking manner.

But none of them were truly laughing.

Finally, Glenn let out a shuddering, choking sigh and he covered his eyes. “The reason why I wanted us to move was because I didn’t want you to be the aegis anymore. I had an idea that it was what killed mother but...” He did not finish. Instead, red hot tears rolled down his cheeks and he let out a strangled noise.

“It’s okay...it’s okay. I can buy everyone some time. I know it. But you need to get your priorities straight—you’re a father now. You need to take care of your family.”

“You are my family.”

“Then...you will respect my decision, won’t you? To let me go out in a bang?”

Witches either die violently by the sword or at the gallows. And at least for Felix, whose two fates were either the Butcher gutting him like a fish or his short work as a shitty shield keeper, he knew what he wanted. Glenn knew what he wanted as brothers do.

And neither of them said anything. Instead, Glenn allowed Felix to sleep against his shoulder as they used to in childhood. Completely free from his duties and the world for just an hour. Just two brothers together for the very last time.

In the distance, the Butcher stood; he peered blankly at the blue shield and touched it.

It quivered.

All the vials were gone. Felix had one last card up his sleeve, but it was not to refill the ward. Everyone felt it—by sundown, it would collapse, and the hunt would be on once again. But at the very least, Felix would make sure his flock would escape, even if it meant watching his own body torn in half.

_________

It flickered once against the blood sun.

The hooded figures on the other end of the village watched in dread as the entire ward died away in a hiss—magic flowing downward to the ground and disappearing like smoke from a snuffed out candle. The minute it faded away, they took off quietly, with one figure looking back at his brother in the clearing. Hesitation in the steps, but he kept running, even as his own vision clouded with tears.

A child crying out for the uncle she will never see again.

The one eye of the hunter opened up from the shadows from sleep and he slowly rose up to greet his challenger. The young witch stood hunched over in the clearing, clutching to his heart; he measured the slow, irregular beats of a dying body. His shirt was stained with dried blood from his coughing earlier. It was either by the hunter or by his own weakness, Felix knew it—he would not survive the night.

He waited for his executioner to approach him. The Butcher took long and deliberate strides until he stopped right in front of the dying witch. Perhaps he would be kind enough to provide a mercy kill? Felix did not find out: he slowly brought his good hand up as soft magic flowed out from his fingertips, sparks shooting up like boiling water. He couldn’t see where he was aiming, just the one glowing blue eye of the hunter; Felix frantically threw his hand out to the air, hoping to hit something.

Instead, he felt a warm and gentle hand grip over his wrist, bringing his hand down to his side. Felix did not fight it. He lost all strength in his body, his legs even shaking like a newborn lamb. This was it, the count towards death.

And what made it even more confusing was that his killer was being incredibly gentle with him, almost loving. There was no domination between bodies or the violence of limbs like their first meeting.

Just the small space of time between comfort and death.

Felix sighed lowly and closed his eyes. He waited for the fated steel impaled through his stomach, the slicing of his skin, and the spilling of his guts. And in that pure moment of ecstasy, he would be free. He would see mother again in a place so light and mirthless than this wet and dreary plain. To feel as though he were nothing but feathers in the wind.

But the sword never came.

Instead, a pair of soft lips captured his bloody ones in a hungry kiss; Felix’s eyes fluttered pleasantly and he moaned into it, allowed the stronger man to wrap around him possessively. Did being held by killers always felt this nice?

Finally, when the Butcher pulled away and stared at him with the most kindest expression, Felix opened his mouth to say something—blood spilled out from his throat in one final and violent cough and the witch went limp in the Butcher’s arms. The darkness around him dove in like vultures in wait and it ate him up, from head to toe.

At the back of Felix’s crippling mind, the images of his beloved coven disappearing into the woods and towards the great and unreachable horizon.

Never to be caught again.

_________

Felix wondered if the afterlife was really this familiar or that everyone’s version of the beyond was simply the place they felt the most comfortable in. Either way, when he woke up, he did not move, merely staring at the ceiling of his own hut and wondered keenly when this strange, cool sensation in his lungs will go away.

Felix blinked at the dull darkness and strained his eyes around; he was laying in bed with the blankets draped over him to the neck; his room was as bare and empty as he remembered when he left with the coven.

The young man clenched his fingers tightly and took deep and measured breaths. Slowly, he took his hand and lifted it up to the sky—the sword mark was still there.

Felix blinked. Was he alive?

He lifted his head, hissing at the dull pain that throbbed in his chest and looked around the room; on his nightstand was an empty glass bottle and a folded piece of paper. The bottle almost looked the ones he used for potions but there was a tag strapped around it, a liquid name he could not recognize—medicine from the realm of man.

Felix pushed himself up against his bed, picked up the paper, and peered at the small message inside. His eyes strained to read out the writing in the darkness, the letters hovering in and out of his vision.

“You win.”

_________

For the next few days, Felix recovered.

He cooked small meals for himself, kept the fireplace running, and even drank some leftover vials of Mercedes’ healing tonic. The young man moved about lethargically—-afraid that too much pressure would break him once again. He was even afraid of practicing magic and decided to leave it alone for a while. Instead, he took that time to rest; Felix often walked out and picked berries and other herbs for meals. While he was too weak to hunt, he did some trap hunting and ate rabbit stew until his stomach felt full.

The evenings were filled with reading from all of his mother’s journals, the same ones he used to teach himself ward magic. Images of shields flashed in his mind and he closed the damn books for good.

In the peaceful, slow days Felix had, there was a thought at the back of his mind that never left him: why did the Butcher spare him? And not just spare him, but saved him? How easy it would have been to just kill him right then and there or let the strain of his magic kill him. Or perhaps it was an insult to claim victory a sick, dying animal—better to put it out of its misery than anything else.

But Felix was certainly alive. He had proof when he pressed a finger to his neck and felt the slow pulse of a weary heart. He had hoped that the Butcher would return to answer his questions, but he never came back.

The only thing left that proved his existence was a short note and a bottle of Fhirdiad medication.

In the quiet nights, Felix dreamed of the last kiss he shared with the hunter; these dreams were soft and light as a cloud, and he always woke up with a feeling of flying.

And Felix wondered without humor if there was something wrong with him.

After the spring morning showers covered the earth in a glistening shine, water droplets sparkling on all over the leaves and bushes, Felix had decided to set out on a walk to the flower field.

He was still staying from magic at the moment, but the young witch could not deny his growing irritation for staying inside this week. Picking a few winter roses would be nice, but Felix would not make the same mistake of getting caught there twice—no naps, especially since the Black Frost forest was free-range now.

In his walk, Felix reveled in the coolness of the morning, the wetness of the earth beneath him. The birds were singing as they did back in the old days, and even in the darkness of the woods, he felt at ease. Everything felt right.

But Felix was still alone—he thought often of Glenn and his coven, whether they were able to escape. Considering his own survival, he knew the Butcher had let them go, but what if other hunters went after them?

He shook his head—Glenn was too clever to let himself be taken over, especially with his new child. Felix could only hoped they make it to Remire after all—perhaps he’ll make the journey too once he’s better.

The flower field was just the way he left it—glowing gently in lights of white and blue in the shallow darkness of the forest. Somehow, the entire field seemed larger than last time, as though it spread out even further. Felix walked around very carefully before looking left and right to the forest. There were noises, animals bounding about, and the faint cheer of birds in the trees. The wind rustled as white petals danced around his feet.

Felix indulged in a bit of selfishness and sat down in the field for a while. He did not dare to sleep—just to sit for a while and take in the air.

It was half an hour into his meditation when he heard noises. Not just animals scurrying around the trees but something heavier. Something more deliberate and slowed. For a minute, he thought it was a bear or a wolf strolling around the ground, but then he heard the crackling of leaves followed by the faint murmur of voices. The animals hushed immediately, the birds fled upward to the sky, and Felix dove behind a nearby tree.

He had anticipated for other people to be passing through since the shield fell, but the Black Frost forest was hardly a place for a walk. The only ones capable of crossing the darkness were other witch hunters. Felix pushed himself against the low indent of the trunk until he was completely hidden and listened in as the voices grew louder.

Two voices as they approached in the field and stopped right at the edge. A man has spoken up, a deep and sinister growl which made Felix shiver cold.

“You’re not one to fail,” the man uttered darkly and made a sharp clicking sound with his tongue. “An entire coven being able to escape? Did your half-blindness stop you?”

“I don’t know how it happened. I was not lying when I said that these witches were crafty in self-preservation.”

The second voice was one Felix had long adjusted himself to and he felt his own heart leap a bit at the sound. He ducked his head over the side and peeked through the bushes, over at the Butcher. He looked well—better than last time with even a black eye patch over the scarred part of his face.

The man he was with was definitely another hunter. But unlike the Butcher, this one was dressed completely in black—ink robes that fell down near his boots, a book of tomes strapped to his hips in place of a sword, dark gloves, and raven hair that folded over neatly over one of his gray, cold pupils.

Something was wrong with this man. Felix had long sensed it in the voice—a murky cynicism turned inward into a deep and sinister spirit. Unlike the Butcher who had least showed some feelings outside of his usual predatory nature, this man wasn’t a hunter—he was a killer.

Was there a difference between the two? One who kills because that is all they know and one who kills because they actively want to and revel in it. Either way, Felix slinked back into the root and controlled his breathing as the two men continued to speak.

“And you even let the Aegis escape. This is unheard of, especially for you,” the man stated harshly. “I can imagine letting the coven go but we needed the aegis. How will we learn of this ward magic they have been projecting for years?”

The witch hunters knew about the ward?

“Well, he’s gone. I don’t know what to tell you. They were truly more clever this time around—no such large scale battles between silver and fire. They tricked me and that was the end of it,” the Butcher stepped away, surveying the flowers around him. His expression was soft and pensive.

His companion’s face darkened. “And you can’t locate them again?”

“By now, that entire coven probably crossed the borders east or south, far from our jurisdiction. We would need to request aid from the Enbarr or Derdriu Orders for assistance.”

“We’re disappointed in you. This has---”

“Look, I got it, alright?” the Butcher suddenly said with a dismissive laugh. He turned away and face the field, shaking his head. “It was a mistake.”

“Our order makes no mistake. For the longest time, you’ve been too arrogant, too prideful. Now look what it cost us,” the raven hunter said in an unnatural quiet that forced Felix to look back over to the men. The Butcher’s back was turned to him as he stared wistfully at the flowers below.

He hummed a lullaby. “You’re always criticizing me, even with my victories. Nothing ever makes you happy, hm? Well, worry not—this will never happen again.”

“No, it won’t.”

Felix’s eyes were too slow to catch it, but a ray of purple light gleamed from the dark hunter’s hand and he shot something right into the exposed back of the Butcher. The one-eyed man did not cry nor did he wail; he fell silently into the field and laid there very still.

Felix could not move.

“You been a thorn at my side for too long—always so mighty with your skills and status. Now the order is disappointed in you. Their faith is wavering,” the dark hunter uttered with a rumbling chuckle. He knelt down to where the Butcher laid and nudged him with his arm. “There needs to be a change in leadership, don’t you think? A bit of necessary cleansing. Worry not old friend—I’ll tell them that you were finally slain by a witch in hiding. I’ll avenge you. Kill your murderers as the new head. And believe me, I won’t make the mistake of mercy.”

With that, the dark hunter gave a strange, long cackle, swiped a medallion off of the Butcher’s body, and stalked back into the pitch blackness of the forest. Felix listened keenly as those footsteps faded away until the song of birds returned to the day.

A betrayal. It seemed like even witch hunters did not get along, though Felix expected them much—they were more representative of the darker traits of civilization. Even from where he hid, he was taken over by fear, a chillness from the cold-blooded murder conducted by the dark hunter. Had that one approached Felix instead of the Butcher that day in the flowers, the witch would surely be dead in an instant.

Felix then slowly emerged out from behind the tree and stepped towards the cold body in the flower field. The Butcher did not move; his eye was closed and his body paled even among the winter roses. Felix crept carefully down right beside the body and peered to the man’s back—a glowing, purple seal was practically burned into the skin and glowed ominously—a death spell.

Felix had learned from Mercedes the uses of dark arts, often practiced by necromancers and dark witches in the southern regions by Enbarr. The most practiced sorcerers were able to cast spells of death, which forced the victim to die within 24 hours. The only way to combat this was to cancel out the seal using light magic, which Felix tried recalling from his time training with the healer.

He sat there and stared longing at the glowing seal, at the hunter that once tried to claim his life, and the lives of his coven. He stared at the man who violated him in this very field and gave him terribly, possessed dreams since that day. He stared at the man who nearly killed him alone through forcing a decade of ward magic expulsion within three days.

Felix should leave him here to die. To answer for all the blood on his hands from killing and slaughtering Felix’s people. To make amends for the terror he and the other witch hunters caused in communities of peace. He should just leave him and head home.

Felix should just go home.

Go home.

But, as if moved by the strings of a puppeteer, the young witch bent over and placed his hands over the purple seal. He closed his eyes, counted to three, and clenched his teeth the flow of warm magic flowed through his fingers and out over the charred skin.

_________

How did Felix get here?

He sat against the bed with a blanket over his shoulder, staring off at the still body of the Butcher. Somehow, he managed to drag the unconscious man all the way to his house, lift him onto his bed, and strip him down to his undergarments.

Felix practically glowed beet red from the six foot two inches of pure scarred muscle mass before him and threw a pile of blankets to cover him. The young man was careful in locking all of the silver equipment in a cupboard, far from the reach of the hunter, though he had no doubt that the man could just kill him with his huge hands.

Big, strong hands that held him tightly in his dreams.

Felix turned away.

Removing a death seal this strong was harder than he anticipated. If Mercedes was here, it would have taken her just an hour of concentration, but Felix needed more time. So far, he was able to buy himself more time and slowed the effects of the seal. But he needed complete and utter attention for the next few hours. Gently, the witch flipped the Butcher over on his stomach and stared at the emblem burned into the skin like a cow's brand.

Why was he doing this, helping the man whose nature was to see him dead? Felix was not sure—he downed a vial of energy potion and prayed to the old gods for mercy as he attempted more cursed magic. He was already so hesitant to use it since his near-death experience, though light magic was not so self-sacrificing.

The young witch stared at the pale body, taut with stone muscle and scarred from numerous battles only spoken against the skin; his eyes wavered to his hands—tiny, fragile little things which shook under the nightmare of his ward magic. But this was not ward magic, was it?

Felix swallowed down his terror, pulled the chair up against the bed, and placed his hands on top of the purple killing emblem. He counted to three and began his work for the next few hours.

_________

Felix woke up to coughing.

He shot up at first, utterly afraid, and touched his mouth only to find it dry. It was not until he looked up from his cot on the ground that he realized it was his house guest. The Butcher was still unconscious but his body was shaking with chills and he had hacked up blood on the blankets—the cruel aftereffects of the seal left behind.

The witch hovered momentarily over the body, pressing his hand against the sudden hot forehead of the hunter—sweat already dripping down to a face gasping for air. Felix had only seen this once—when Mercedes was healing one of the elderly witches from a death seal. Afterward, the poor woman fell into a violent fever that early killed her right then and there. Mercedes practically rushed to her aid, securing a cool compress on her head, constantly feeding her soups, and forcing strong medicines down her throat. Felix never forgot the healer’s face that day—a usual benevolent and calm expression worn down with rings beneath the eyes and cheeks stained red with tears.

The woman did not make it.

The Butcher coughed again, his body shaking frantically from under the sheets, and he collapsed against the pillows. His usual sharp face was red with sweat and he was breathing harshly like a wounded sow. Felix was no healer. He was not Mercedes. How would someone like him be able to help the sick recover?

He backed away in a fright and held the sides of his head. Everything was spinning again, this time plagued with returning feelings of doubt. It was like the damn shield all over again. Felix always knew that he was damaged goods. He failed his coven with the shield, and now he could not even heal someone from a fever.

Why was he still alive?

As Felix stepped back, he accidentally knocked against his nightstand. Various objects wobbled and tumbled off the table—his hand shot out and snatched them out of the air. The first thing he caught was the glass medicine bottle. All the liquid was gone, just the glass left behind. And yet, all it took was some advanced medicine from the city to save him and the Butcher gave it to him.

Felix gazed warmly at the bottle, a sensation tugging at his heart. It was one he could not recognize though it felt rather pleasant and light, almost intoxication. Like honey poured over his heart and seeping deep into his blood. Was he sick again? After a moment, the witch got up and dashed off outside to pick a few medicinal herbs from the forest.

_________

When the Butcher gained consciousness from the height of his boiling, feverish delusion, he could not speak. The man groaned weakly in bed, mad man ramblings beneath his bated breath— _cold, cold, cold_ —before he lulled his head to one side and his foggy eyes landed on the naked back of the witch.

Felix was changing from a long day of tending to the sickly man and when he finally turned around, his amber eyes landed right on the murky gaze of his house guest.

Neither of them moved, though it was not like the hunter had the energy to lift himself up. Felix’s mouth thinned tightly; a faint heat rose to his cheeks when he realized that the man was watching him the entire time, but he said nothing to this. Instead, the witch picked up the bowl of hot soup he brought in and approached the bed.

The Butcher watched him with half-lidded eyes of worship.

“Fe…”

“Hush, now,” Felix quipped tightly and sat down beside him.

He clicked the spoon all around the bowl, stirring the thick cream around in gentle circles. He was expecting the hunter to wake up sooner or later, but not this early. The Butcher’s face was still flushed over and his breath came out in long irregular counts of three, but at least he was conscious and could somewhat make sense.

“Just shut up and eat. Got it?”

The Butcher shook his head weakly and closed his one eye. When did Felix upgraded from a healer to a mother so quickly? Is this what Mercedes always felt like back in the coven? What an exhausting sentiment.

The witch kept quiet as he fed his bedridden guest. His cheeks were still stinging pink and his heart flushed a bit when a ghost of a smile appeared on the Butcher’s sickly, foolish face. Even if it was too small to really notice, Felix noticed it.

Perhaps too closely for his liking.

For the next few days when the rains fell overhead, the witch ran back and forth tending to the hunter. In the wet mornings, he rose early and checked the man’s temperature. Always hot. Felix was getting frustrated—no matter what he did, it did not seem to be going down. Some days, it seemed to waver just a bit. Other days, it shot back up, high and dangerous.

Felix pressed a wet compress on the man’s head; heat radiated so feverishly from his body and yet, the Butcher continued to bemoan that he was cold. It was always cold, it was always freezing. He shivered like a dying man. No amount of blankets and warm towels seemed to do the trick. Not even hot stone steam which, Felix left in the room.

Aside from this, he always made hot soups for meals and mixed bitter healing potions Mercedes taught him—the hunter was always apprehensive to take these, shaking his head like a child and turned to the other side of the bed. The witch had to grip his mouth open to pour it down.

Travels around the Black Frost forest was his only solace during his caretaking duties but he never took too long. He only made brief trips back and forth from the flower field and back for more potion work, sometimes picking up nightshade and peppermint along the way.

At some point, Felix forced the hunter to sit up. The man’s body, taut with muscle and scars, huffed weakly from the movement as Felix threw a heavy blanket over him, and pushed pot of boiling medicinal herbs inside. It was a technique Mercedes taught him, utilizing the old traditions of the original witches by using the earth itself. Felix often took in herbal steam and sweat during intense meditation.

“It’s too hot,” the Butcher groaned indignantly, even lifting the blanket flaps up for air. Felix forced slapped the hand away and closed it back down.

“I can’t breathe…”

“You’re suppose to breathe in the steam, you fool.”

“It smells too sharp.”

“That’s because there’s peppermint and Almyran pine in the mix. Get used to it,” the witch snapped and crossed his arms. Why was the most feared witch hunter in the north such a child?

The figure under the blankets shifted slightly and grumbled. “Could you add something else to the pot? Maybe chamomile?”

“Chamomile will just make the whole mix soft!”

“Please, just a little bit…”

The witch groaned loudly and stomped off to his kitchen. For the past days, he had collected and grown a whole garden at his window with just about every herb known to witchology right in front of him. Annette used her garden for tea though Felix would rather see it go for some practical use. He snatched some chamomile flowers and walked back to the mini steam setup.

Without another word, Felix lifted up the blanket flaps and shifted inside; the blue eye greeted him in mild surprise—the hunter was hunched over on the pot, blonde hair wet and over the flushed, intoxicated face. Sweat gleamed at his forehead, his brow, and strong jawline. Even in the small darkness of the space between them, Felix noticed the trails of sweat all over the man’s thick muscles, trailing down hotly over his breasts—beading at the small spaces of his abs, and wetting the pale skin with a sharp glisten.

Felix had to blink rapidly in order to dispel his own flustered state and reached over to throw the chamomile in. But then a large hand shot out and grabbed his wrist so suddenly, he dropped the flowers and looked up.

The Butcher pulled him in until they were both hovering over the steaming pot, faces inches apart. Felix caught the sharpness of his house guest's blue eye and held his breath.

“Why...why did you save me?” the Butcher finally uttered softly, almost a whisper as the smoke joined in with the heaviness of their breaths.

“Why did you save me?” Felix shot back in equal kind.

None of them could answer it. Two men of different worlds separated by mutual hatred and fear felt the ancient walls between them slip away to antiquity; Felix looked away, ignoring the stinging heat in his cheeks as he spoke harshly.

“Your name.”

“What?”

The witch hissed through his teeth. “What...What is your name?”

The sick man smiled tooth fully like a drunken fool and leaned in until his lips barely touched the outer lobes of Felix’s reddening ears.

“Dimitri.”

_________

At the height of Dimitri’s fever was the worst storm the forest had ever faced.

It came like as a screaming tempest, preventing Felix from going out and collecting more herbs for another steam mix. The witch sat and watched the violent, thundering veil of rain trapped him from within; the trees danced against the howling wind with branches crashing down all around the grounds, and he shut the door tightly.

In the bedroom, Dimitri was muttering again of a cold Felix did not feel, shivering as though winter had come three seasons early. No matter how many blankets he tucked into the man or how many hot compresses he placed, even some heat magic against the skin, Dimitri was getting colder and weaker by the hour. Everything he touched was too sensitive, everything stung with a mingling pain against the paleness of his skin.

Felix felt his own panic rise as he placed the back of his hand against Dimitri’s forehead and nearly jumped from the soaring heat. Felix had exhausted everything—what more could he do? Even healing magic did very little to help with Dimitri’s temperature no less the invisible freezing he was dying from. The young witch sat down against the edge of the bed and rubbed the man’s arm in a rare and open concern.

So this was the true power of the death seal.

Even if one could get rid of it, the aftermath will surely ensure that the job gets done. That’s what Mercedes saw in that older witch—a killing fever.

Dimitri opened his one eye and stared dimly at Felix who leaned in overhead. He was shivering, shaking like a wet beast, and had trouble breathing. A thought passed darkly in Dimitri’s gaze and he shut them tightly, muttering.

“What?” Felix whispered and leaned in to catch the man’s haggard words.

Dimitri licked his lips and repeated more loudly though it was pained. “Hold me...”

Felix’s face went white red and he gave a half laugh out of nervousness. But Dimitri’s hand coiled desperately over his and the man shook without humor. He was serious.

In the past days of feeding, bathing, and changing him, Felix had never once really held him. There was no need to. And yet, something in him stirred hotly and he finally shifted fully on the bed under the cover. He curled his body up against Dimitri’s, hesitating tucking his arms around the man’s torso. He was hot. Unbearable so, like fire. But he kept muttering wildly of killing chills all around him.

Felix had an idea, one Glenn once mentioned a long time ago—in terrible days of cold winter, should they find themselves without heat in the middle of the woods, far from sanctuary, the best way to survive is to produce heat. And to do that, they had to rub the nudity of their skin against one another hotly. The idea alone made Felix steam up and gasp slightly when he remembered that Glenn had to do that with some fellow witches during a particularly terrible blizzard. But Dimitri’s breath worsened to a harsh rasp and his teeth clattered together loudly.

After everything he done up until now, was he really willing to let this big idiot die from a powerful fever? Even then, would Felix be okay with letting Dimitri die after everything? He stared very longingly at the sharp, handsome face of his hunter, contorted in pain and near death.

Finally, with his mind cleared of all hesitation, Felix sat up and pulled his shirt off over his head.

“W-What are you doing?” Dimitri squeaked like a wounded mouse and nearly fell over on the other side of the bed.

“You’re cold, aren’t you?” Felix said, letting his long hair down. The man beneath him choked on the dry air at the sight and shifted back against his pillow.

“What? Do you not want me to hold you? This will keep you warm.”

“I…”

“As if you’re one to complain,” Felix sneered and settled closely to Dimitri’s side, skin touching skin. His own body was always so cold but just lining up against the man’s hard chest, which radiated hotly, he flinched from the heat. “You behaved like an absolute beast when we first met. And now you’re acting like the shy virgin.”

Dimitri’s face fell. “I’m...I’m sorry.”

Felix felt the larger man’s arms slink around his small torso in a slow and hesitant manner. The witch was buried right at the nape of Dimitri’s gasping neck. A strong chin settled on top of his head and they laid there, listening to their own heartbeats. Dimitri’s hand reached over and searched aimlessly for Felix’s—he gave in and latched their fingers together, passing warmth between the tips. The sounds of rain settled against the roof, the quiet patter silencing everything from the outside except the confines of Felix’s bedroom. After a while, he closed his eyes and asked very softly.

“Is this better? Are you warm now?”

Dimitri swallowed harshly. “Yes. Very much so, yes.”

Felix opened his eyes, wandering down to the strong body he clung onto in a bed meant for one. He licked his lips and swallowed down the itch in his throat.

“Dimitri.”

“Felix.”

“Why didn’t you kill me when we first met?” he asked, unable to find the proper strength in his voice.

It was Dimitri’s turn to sound weak. “The hex…”

“I keep telling you, you damn oaf, I did not cast a hex on you.”

“I felt it,” he continued with a deep shudder. His arm which coiled around Felix’s body began to twitch at the hand, excited from the memory—fingers caressing the soft skin on the witch’s back. “When I saw you lying there in the flowers. Your long black hair, your thighs, how your shirt was pulled up and showed that body hiding underneath. Like a sleeping forest maiden,” Dimitri muttered into Felix’s hair—the hand began to trail down. It slipped past the waistline of the witch’s loose pants and felt the sensitive skin of upper thighs. Felix’s breath hitched to a choke; his own hand was tempted to move away but the strong hand that clasped them held them tightly.

“You know what you did to me? I could not even breathe. I was so overtaken by this person that I thought to myself: it had to have been a hex. Some unnatural curse that turned me crazed and possessed. And then the dreams came.”

Felix's eyes opened in shock. Dreams?

Dimitri sensed this and smiled. “Powerful, suffocating dreams. An incubus that emerged from my window every night, presenting himself for my blood lust. Every night I took you. And every night you escaped from me. I was...I knew it was too late. There was no turning back from that.” The fingers lovingly traveled all along the legs—squeezing a bit at the ass. A biting smile bored right on the top of Felix’s head as he mewed into Dimitri’s neck.

Finally, it felt something hard and pulsing, twitching excitedly from the sudden touch. Felix gasped when the man coiled around it. The hunter grinned with sharp teeth, his dull blue eye now flushed with life.

“You had those dreams too, didn’t you?”

“Y-Yes…,” Felix whispered; his cock twitched in Dimitri’s gentle grip and he bit his mouth to stop himself from thrusting into his palm. When did moment turn ugly with lust?

“Tell me what happened in your dreams, Felix. What did I do to you,” Dimitri whispered to his ear. “Don’t spare a single detail.”

“You...you were lying down…”

“Like how I am now?”

Felix swallowed. “Yes…”

The older man hummed softly and squeezed the witch’s hardened length gently. Felix made a strangled noise and arched his back up in response. Dimitri smiled, his other hand still clasped possessively over the smaller man.

“Where were you, my dear?”

“I was kneeling...on the end of the bed. You were waiting for me…”

“What was I waiting for, hm?”

When Felix choked on his answer, Dimitri nibbled the witch’s ears and muttered darkly to him through his growing lust. “Felix, would you like to show me exactly what happened?”

The witch nodded almost immediately—impatiently, and the hunter laughed out happily.

_________

Felix’s dreams were always so vivid, as clear as the waters in spring. And it always started the same:

The witch, for his heresy and anti-nature against all that is good and holy of mankind was sentenced to death by impalement. The executioner was awaiting with a hungry expression, swirling with dark lust for his role in this righteous murder. The witch was stripped down and made to take the walk of shame through a screaming crowd towards his death in the horizon.

The thick, wet length twitching like a monster in a hunt and waited for blood as the victim was forced up onto the post. The executioner gave a breathy laugh as he grasped the naked sides of the witch, the post pressing against his wet entrance excitedly.

All was slow and quiet; the shouts from the crowd slowed, the birds that flew overhead stilled in the air, and all that mattered was the witch seconds away from the plunge and the wicked smile of his executioner.

Finally, the strong hands that marked his side forced him down and the witch could only see white. A beautiful, blinding white that overwhelmed all of his senses and made quiet the life-ending screaming the witch gave out.

Everything was smothering him.

The executioner’s hands held him tight as it impaled him all the way, the grin of evil never leaving his face. The witch was gasping and lurching back like a fish on land, feeling the hot, thick wetness split him in half from the bottom all the way to the top; his tight walls stretched open, sleek and pulsing, and he was pulled down further until an inner part of him had been struck.

The witch’s eyes rolled over at the back of his head, drool falling from his mouth. Death was here, he was dying, and the executioner was giving it to him slowly. But he was an unholy creature, a heretic, a practitioner of forbidden knowledge. And he wanted more.

He gave a troubled, far off laugh, and settled down against the thick, hungry length, and began to bounce sloppily. Liquid squirted from his sleek entrance, every plunge was loud and wet. The witch threw his head back, eyes rolled over, as his half fell over his body. The executioner chuckled at the witch’s need for a quicker, more violent death. His hands hardened so deeply into the skin, it turned purple, and he began to thrust the pole up into the witch. The creature wailed and cried with tears, saliva dripping down from his hanging tongue; his cock was fully erect and bounced against his impaled stomach, cum already forming at the throbbing tip.

The crowd shouted, the crowd wailed. _Give him death, let him suffer, tear his insides apart!_

And the executioner did just that proudly.

The monstrous pole somehow lengthened inside of the witch like a serpent digging deeper into its narrow nest. He gave a laugh-cry, choking on his own spit, as it pierced his prostate repeatedly. His stomach bulged from the size of the pole with every thrust and he kept bouncing erratically, chasing his own violent orgasm until it plunged fully into that spot once more and he cried out—cum shot out in thick, hot ribbons and coated his chest white and slick.

The executioner thrust up roughly into him through the climax and roared as his own liquids filled the witch up, emptying everything with his stomach jutting out like a mother with child. The witch finally sunk back down against the pole that impaled him, his mind lost to the execution, eyes white and dead. His tongue hung out slightly, ready for the crows to pick and fight over; with final gasp, his body went limp and the crowed finally cheered with the arrival of a terrible and cruel death.

But for the witch, these last moments filled him with so much painful ecstasy that he died with a weary, content smile on his face.

For Felix, this was when Dimitri roared like a beast possessed from under him, filling him with his hot spent as the young man rode out the orgasm and fell against the muscular body. His throat burned red from screaming, and his entire body was lost its magic and energy—as though he was back to maintaining the shield. But this time, the after-effects was almost pleasant and euphoric, a drug he wanted to get addicted every single day he lived.

Felix took long and haggard gasps against Dimitri’s chest, his hand gently squeezing the hunter’s bitten breasts playfully. The man chuckled through his exhaustion and placed kisses all along the witch’s head. They laid there, still connected to each other softly, enjoying the wet, sticky sensation of their own bodies. It was still raining a violent storm outside but neither of them noticed.

Finally, Felix asked in a choking voice. “Are you warm now?”

A smiling, sleepy voice answered back. “Yes, very much so.”

When did sex replace medicine in healing?

_________

Felix’s home was always bare, even when he first moved away from his childhood home and built his house by the overgrowth. It was a small little hut with just a few of his personal things, mostly books and alchemy equipment. The years past and the only additions he managed to give to the house was some herbal plants and a usual faint condensation at the windows from all the steam he used for his meditation. Usually Annette tried to pepper the place with some overly colorful flowers she brought from her own place—which Felix only used in his steam mixes, irritating the redhead. But flowers were easy to get rid of and clean up from his space.

Blood and animals guts was another thing.

It had become a common sight for the witch to return home to a mess in his kitchen. The sight of Dimitri hunched over the table with an animal thrown on top; his sleeves were rolled up, hands stained red as he pulled out a cluster of guts from the cut stomach. He looked up and gave a toothy wave at the grimacing man at the door.

“I hope you like deer-bear-elk,” Dimitri would say to whichever animal he was skinning and gutting that day. He was smiling foolishly and even tried to go in for a kiss before Felix pushed him with a mild look of disgust.

“You better clean this up before dinner,” The witch would lecture before slinking off to do alchemy work for the day.

His companion was ever so obedient, always nodding and grinning along as though he found something precious. At night, Felix would peek in the kitchen and watched as Dimitri rubbed the sweat from his brow from an hour of scrubbing. Afterward, they would sit down at the small table, the hunter’s long and muscular legs usually stretched over on Felix’s side, pressed against his own legs rather intimately.

At night, they settled quietly. Dimitri went to bed first as he suffered chronic headaches since the fever; Felix would stay up and continued his work, even as the older man kept pleading for him to come to bed. Eventually, Dimitri would pass out from staying up too long, waiting. It was only then when Felix put down his materials and climbed into bed; he made sure that man was actually asleep before slinking his arms around the large torso and cuddling up against him.

Some nights, Felix was sure Dimitri was feigning sleep. He was never brave enough to ask.

When the house wasn’t filled with the faint smell of dead animals and meat stews, it was filled with the smell of smoke. Dimitri was given back all of his equipment and spent his days sharpening his weapons. Felix would return from a long day of gathering herbs only to come across a fierce smoldering burning—Dimitri was always sitting outside, grinding steel against a grindstone. It was these moments where he did not lift his head up and greeted the witch coming home, but he smiled to himself as Felix stared at the grinding closely. Afterward, he presented the steel to Felix as a gift.

Felix, who always grew up around soft magic, found a certain love of swords and blades he never told anyone about. Even as he scoffed with rolled eyes and hesitantly accepted the present from Dimitri, he sat down at night and stared with glowing cheeks at the dagger. In fact, Dimitri made him several, perhaps too much for he had to decorate his entire wall with the furnished swords.

Eventually, Felix was shown how to sharpen them himself. Dimitri sat the witch down in front of the grindstone outside and handed him a dull hunter’s blade. The hunter sat right behind him, his body leaning into the smaller man’s back.

“See that pedal? You have to push it with your foot,” Dimitri murmured into Felix’s ears. The witch stared at the contraption before him and then brought his foot over and stepped down—the grindstone begin to rumble and spin.

“Do I bring the dagger over?” he asked nervously, clutching tightly onto the blade.

“That’s right…” Dimitri reached over and grasped Felix’s hands. The witch gasped lightly as the rough calluses of the hunter’s fingers rubbed against his skin. He was always so warm, so alive, with blood practically pulsing hotly under his skin. Felix tried to ignore the swelling in his stomach as he allowed Dimitri to gently guide the dagger against the stone.

Sparks flew from the side and Felix immediately shifted back with wide eyes.

“Just keep your distance,” the hunter said with a laugh.

The witch stared at the dagger and followed the flow of Dimitri’s strength, slowly shifting the blade from side to side carefully against the stone. He so emerged in the act that he seldom noticed the softness of Dimitri’s stare, how he gazed at him from behind with a warm smile.

That night, Felix used his brand new sharpened dagger to help Dimitri skin a boar he killed in the woods. The meat was fresh and filling and seemed to have intoxicated Felix quite a bit.

Afterward, the witch guided the hunter’s rough hands down the sides of his hips and kissed him hungrily. Felix melted against the larger body and felt his pants being torn off violently in a hot passion; Dimitri entered and took him roughly against the slipping sheets of the bed, murmuring panting praises. Felix’s hands were pinned on either side of his head, his fingers latched into Dimitri’s as the hunter above filled him up deeply and he cried. He was wet, hot, and so sore that he passed out immediately afterward—his long hair clinging to the sweat of his back. Dimitri peppered the abused body with kisses before cleaning Felix up and wrapped his strong arms around him in sleep.

In the silent hour of the night, Dimitri reached over and kissed the knife scar on Felix’s palm. The witch wondered if the hunter knew that he had been awake.

Most nights ended like this with the two men having to bathe in the small river behind Felix’s hut the next morning. Eventually, the witch had to teach the hunter how to sew and patch up clothing for he had run out of pants to wear. Mercedes had taught him years ago, but nothing could prepare him for having to deal with a man who kept bending a pair of scissors—his face on the brink of tears from the act.

Days turned into weeks until Felix no longer seemed dazed by how warm his house was or how there were torn bits of fabrics on the ground, spots of animal blood on the walls, and sometimes rusted daggers and sword hilts. Mornings were slow, the afternoons were loud and boisterous, and the nights fell quiet with just the sounds of hushed breathing between two men—a world just meant for them.

_________

“Where are you going?” Felix groaned as he rose from the bed, rubbing his eyes.

It was the early morning with the sky gray and lightless.

Dimitri’s back was turned to him.

The man, for the first time since he was dragged to the witch’s hut, was donning his long blue overcoat with the furs of black and white at the top. His sword was strapped securely at his side and his crossbow was slung over his back. He looked larger with his uniform on, large and killing like the first day they met.

Dimitri did not turn around, not even when Felix reached over and grasped his gloved hand. The witch’s heart was racing wildly and he had begun to breathe out in long measures—something was wrong. He could feel it in the air, in the bedroom they lovingly shared. The man he held and loved suddenly seemed so far away and alien to him.

“Business,” the hunter muttered under his breath. He tightened his belt which held an array of weaponry and snapped his straps together. Felix walked around until they stood face to face.

Dimitri’s one eye was steely and cold—the usual warmth the man showed in the morning, absolutely nowhere in sight. Like a stranger. Like a killer waiting at the edge of the flower field. Felix touched his lover’s face only to feel ice.

“W-Where? What business?” He stuttered nervously.

Dimitri blinked as if he finally noticed the witch was there and cupped Felix’s cheek. Gloves were cold and unloving.

“I need to pay a _friend_ a visit,” he stated coolly.

A friend. Felix did not need an explanation to know who that is.

“No,” he said and shook his head. “He’ll kill you! That death seal was so powerful, I almost lost you three times.”

“He caught me off guard, but I promise you—I’ll be careful.”

“What if he casts a death seal on you again?”

“Felix, he won’t have time to cast anything once he sees me,” Dimitri uttered darkly, even smiling a bit, but it was cutting and sharp. A hunter’s smile before the final kill.

Felix’s heart raced violently like a rabbit in an open field and he backed away with his hands to his chest. He peered down at the floorboards, at Dimitri’s worn-down and scratched up boots. The early morning always had doves that sang out in the misty gray sky, but none of their songs could be heard from here.

He did not look up, even as Dimitri leaned over and placed a cold kiss against his cheek and muttered absently to his ear: “Wait for me—three days.”

“What happens if you don’t come back by then?”

Dimitri’s blue eye flashed momentarily. “Then take your things and go far from here. If I don’t come back in three days, these woods are no longer safe for you. Do you understand me, Felix?”

His voice was edged and rough, to close off all discussion on the matter. The witch could only nod slowly as a dullness climbed up his leg and up against the dryness of his throat; Dimitri gave another kiss—a little stronger, on Felix’s unmoving lips. They stayed there for a little bit, breathing into each other.

Dimitri was the first to pull away. He took Felix’s scarred hand, placed a kiss on that as well, and let go. The hunter then went out the door without once looking back.

If Dimitri did, he would have seen the soft tears that stained the witch’s eyes.

_________

Three days passed.

And yet it felt like an entire week.

Felix, who always lived alone after his mother died, never noticed until now how utterly slow the day passed. Mornings were slow. Afternoons were slow. And nights were cold and lonely. The deep imprint of Dimitri’s body was still pressed on the other side of the bed; Felix laid down and placed his hand over it, feeling the soft edges of the fabric. It was the only way he was able to sleep properly.

For the first two days, the witch distracted himself through herb picking and sharpening all of the dull swords Dimitri left around the house. He went through about ten different blades before trying his hand at hunting.

Usually, back at the coven, Glenn and Ingrid handled the hunting while Felix was forced to meditate for his shield-keeping duties. Felix found himself pretty adept at it when he was able to corner a deer. But the meat was too much for him—he packed up the rest of it when Dimitri would come home.

 _If_ Dimitri came home.

On the third morning, Felix woke up to an empty bed and an empty house. The birds were chirping a bit too loudly for his liking. He sat on his bed and waited for the songs to pass. Waited for the fated footsteps to come up against his door. But the birds did not stop; the footsteps never came.

Felix stared off at his— _their_ collection of swords and knives on the wall. It shined in the dim misty light—his lone reflection shot off from the steel, staring back at him with one hundred red eyes. Felix looked away. He hated staring at himself for too long.

After a while of birds singing, Felix lifted himself off to get dressed for a day.

A day meant until nightfall—not the morning. Felix knew he should not be so impatient but time at the Black Frost forest was measured in intervals of light, and Glenn always said that it was better to be back by the sun than the night. But Dimitri was a stranger to his laws. He always was a stranger.

Back when the coven occupied the forest, there was a sense of shared space—while the area was endless and dark, Felix always felt like someone from his community was nearby. Be it Annette who was practicing magic at the fields or Mercedes collecting herbs or Ingrid hunting animals. Glenn always took walks to clear his head, especially since he took over as head of the coven. Now the forest was empty. There was no Annette, no Mercedes, and no Ingrid.

And there was no Glenn.

Felix wondered rather dispassionately if he should leave for Remire if Dimitri did not come back. A journey for one person was usually easier than a whole group. He could scavenge some supplies, take some of the blades he and Dimitri sharpened for protection. Make some more energy potions for the road—not that he had to worry too much about making more wards again.

Then Felix stopped. He stared out to the kitchen, where the light shone in through the window, right on the cutting table where Dimitri often gutted their dinner. Bits of blood were still stained on the walls. Dimitri was never good at cleaning.

Was it always difficult to breathe? The day was still young. He had much time—he didn’t need to think of a plan B for now. Or to think about the absence of a certain hunter.

The trail to the flower fields was always wet and cold in the morning due to the thin mist that covered the forest grounds. Felix carried on quietly with his head down to the ground. The birds were too loud. They were always so loud. Back in the old days, he would hear Annette’s explosions in the distance.

There were no explosions here anymore.

The flowers seemed to glow fainter in the day. Perhaps it was the fact that they valued the night more, allowing themselves to really show off properly. Felix had to make separate trips back and forth when he was maintaining the shield. Glenn always told him that he should just take as many as he could and mix a whole set of potions. Felix never did tell him that the various trips were his only break from stress.

Was he stressed now? From all the waiting? Felix was not sure. For the first time in his life, he realized one important thing: he hated being alone.

As he sat down among the flowers, he peered up at the sky.

It was always covered by the thickness of the canopy, only allowing a few pinholes of light coming through. But since the violent storm many moons ago, most of the upper branches were blown off. Felix could actually see the sun from here, even if it was under gray thinning clouds. A little ball of light glowing against the rainy sky. It almost felt comforting if he really thought about it.

Then the birds stopped chirping. The animals stopped.

Footsteps bounded from the darkness.

Felix whirled his head around with his heart pumping right on his sleeve.

“Took you long enough, Dim—”

“Well, well, well, look what we have here.” Two figures stood right at the edge of the flower field draped in long robes with weapons of silver. Their faces, while not the sinister picture of a hunter, bore sneers and contentment that suggested otherwise.

Felix could not move.

“I thought all the witches cleared out of here weeks ago.”

“I guess they left behind a straggler—not that I’m complaining. More fun for us.”

“I-I’m not a witch,” Felix stuttered. His finger glowed warmly with magic, twitching at his thighs. It would not be enough to stop them, two hunters armed with the necessary tools to kill a witch.

But then again, just the sight of these two fools hardly added up to Dimitri’s presence on the first day.

Dimitri was a butcher. These two were just the dogs that ate the scraps.

“Really?” One of the hunters sneered and brought his crossbow up. “Because all I see target practice—”

The bolt shot out and gleamed in the light towards Felix’s thighs. He didn’t know what happened exactly, only that his hands shot out on instinct. A familiar, killing magic radiated from his fingertips like the memories of a past lost, and all was white and blue. The hunters knocked back roughly against the trees and Felix opened his eyes to find himself covered by a shield, small enough just for him and the flowers.

So he was not broken after all.

“What the fuck is that?” One of the hunters grunted roughly, pulling his friend up.

“I never seen this magic before. It’s like a big ward or something.”

Felix stared at the pair as one of them shot out another bolt, just for it to bounce off the shield and over towards the ground. They stared in disbelief as Felix smirked at the fools from the safety of his magic. He was not sure how much power he had left, especially since he left off it for so long. Would he die again like last time?

“Well, what are you two idiots standing around for?” Felix called out in a mocking voice. “Too scared of a little shield?”

One of the hunter’s eyes twitched violently. “What the fuck did you say, you little shit?! I’ll fucking kill you!” he shouted and drew his sword out swiftly. The next thing that happened, Felix saw it as a passing vision, and smiled to himself—the man leaped up, the blade over his head, and struck the shield. Magic ebbed like waves and the sword bounced back.

There was a death-piercing scream.

“Holy fucking shit!” The other hunter cried as he ran over to his friend shaking on the ground in pain. Blood squirted out all over the flowers from the sword embedded deeply into the man’s right eye.

Felix wondered humorlessly if he had a knack for taking out eyes. But, unlike Dimitri, he had no plans on eloping with any of these poor hounds. Someone so foolish to hit a reflection was equal to the man who touched fire. Pain was a cruel and effective teacher.

“That little shit—I’ll kill you, I’ll rip your head from your fucking shoulders!” he screamed out, thrashing around wildly.

“Go ahead, try again. I’m not going anywhere,” Felix taunted unable to hide his smile.

This was fun with incompetent hunters. He was so used to dealing with Dimitri’s famous skills that he often forgot that there were probably foolish witch hunters out there. If these two belonged to the Fhirdiad order, then that whole department needed to check themselves out.

“They never trained us for this shit,” the other hunter said, shifting back and forth between his screaming friend and the glowing, ominous shield emitting from the flower field. Dimitri mentioned that the order did not check up on soft magic, favoring training against harder magics like fire.

But this was not fire.

“You...you can’t stay in there for long,” the wounded hunter grunted as he lifted himself up. Blood poured down his face and stained his robes. The sword was still there and he was struggling to take it out. “Once that stupid shield goes down, I’ll make sure you feel everything we’re about to do. I’ll start at your feet. I’ll cut your tendons so you can’t even stand let along walk. You’ll crawl and beg, and we’ll tear off those sinful clothes. We’ll take turns with you—put that little mouth to some use. Once you’re all fucked up and beaten like the little whore that you are, I’ll gouge out those pretty eyes of yours, cut out your tongue, slice that pale skin right off your—”

The hunter never finished. A blade soared right through his rambling mouth from the back of his head and outward as though he grown an extra tongue. It shone red as he choked and gurgled up blood, splattering heaps of it onto the shield. The sword eventually retracted and the hunter fell to the ground, dead.

The person standing behind him, a towering one-eyed butcher draped in furs. Felix’s heart wept silently with joy, the shield even shaking a bit from his own inner emotions. The other hunter spun around with his mouth agape in shock.

“D-Dimitri? I-I thought you were dead! Hubert said that a witch got you.”

“Hubert is a bit behind on information at the moment. You can ask him again when you see him for me.”

“Wait—”

Felix watched from the front row as Dimitri ran his sword right into the hunter’s stomach. The man’s eyes bulged large and white, choking, as the Butcher pulled the blade to side and sliced it opened; guts poured out onto the wet soil like the strings of a loose web, and the hunter’s eyes rolled back. He staggered for a moment, even reaching out to Dimitri helplessly who stood by and watched with a cold stare. After a brief moment, the body collapsed onto it’s own spilled insides, jerking about a bit before going still.

Dimitri stood right in the middle of the bloodshed. The great hunter stared at all the wreckage around him, his posture and breathing oddly normal for a kinslayer, as if it did not bother him one bit. But then the hunter’s one blue eye landed on Felix’s bright pupils and the chillness melted to a familiar warmth.

He smiled and Felix felt young again.

Slowly, the shield around him dissipated as though it sensed that the danger was gone, and Felix could hardly register when a strong pair of arms swooped in and scooped him up into a suffocating, breathing kiss. The two stayed like that, among flowers of white, semi-covered in blood and the torn guts of men. It was almost romantic in a twisted way.

Dimitri was the first to pull away—he was always the first to pull away, and he stared at Felix with the strongest, most smoldering look of love the witch had ever experienced. It nearly suffocated him right then and there.

“Took...took you long enough, Dimitri,” he huffed weakly with flushed cheeks.

“I know...I know...Felix,” The hunter muttered and breathed in the witch’s scent intimately.

Felix wrapped his thin arms around Dimitri and pulled himself closer until their cheeks touched. He never thought he would be cradled so lovingly like a newly wed bride, not around dead bodies that is.

“Come on, you big oaf,” he whispered hotly to the hunter’s ears. “Carry me back home. Our marriage bed is waiting.”

Dimitri grinned like a drunken fool. He was always drunk with affection, always brimming with warmth—fuzzy pink at the cheeks and voice filled with clamor. He leaned in and capture the witch’s lips in another aching kiss until neither of them could breathe no more.

Finally, they pulled away together and Dimitri began the slow walk back to the forest.

“Yes, let’s go home.”

_________

_Hey Felix._

_What?_

_Would you teach me some of that ward magic?_

_Aren’t you scared of a little witchcraft?_

_I’m scared of you—not magic._

_…_

_Besides, I wouldn’t want you protecting us alone. Let me help—shoulder the burden._

_...Fine. But I’m a harsh teacher._

_I wouldn’t have it any other way._

_________

On Felicia’s fifth birthday, the coven of Remire threw her a party.

As they done for the past four parties, this one outweighed the last in strength and vigor. Aunt Annette had invented something called “fireworks” in the past month and the red headed woman presented her gift to the young girl by shooting flames up into the sky. They soared up high into the night and burst out into a tiny million stars that dazzled and flared.

The children below screamed in delight, dancing around the open field as their parents watched with laughter in their throats. Felicia stared in the arms of her father as the lights danced all across the night sky, her eyes reflecting their glory. He pulled her into a tight hug and pressed kissed all along the dark of her hair.

By the banquet, her beloved mother with golden hair was gouging on heaps of food with Aunt Mercedes right beside her. The women peered up and blew messy kisses towards the girl who accepted them happily.

On top of the field were more witches who came to celebrate from Garreg Mach, a nearby monastery that obtained political power in the south and had become a major advocate for magic and its users. As Felicia learned in history class, most of the major covens moved down south to the sanctuary of the monastery, and at the very least, achieved some peace with the cities and its orders. The orders in the north, however, were all but wiped out in the last years.

Some of the farmers even came with gifts of goats and baked goods. All around her were so many smothering faces of love and happiness that the girl could hardly contain herself. Once the fireworks died away, Mercedes handed out lanterns to all the children so they could hang them in the forest—to celebrate the graciousness of life as well as pray for the souls lost in their preservation.

Felicia was always given a red lantern on her birthday. Inscribed on the front was the name of a person she never met before, but one that invoked deep sadness in her father. He grasped her tiny hands together and asked the girl to ‘carry on his spirit carefully’. Felicia has been careful for the last four years (the first two years, she had her father’s help).

This year won’t be any different.

The girl followed her friends to the woods; they perched up against the trees and hung the lanterns from branches; it glowed gently like fireflies in the summer. Felicia was a finicky girl and always needed to find the right spot. She had been growing taller in the hopes that she could finally hang her lantern right in the middle of the tallest tree that stood on a hill, overlooking the woods.

Felicia waltzed over and stared up at the overreaching branch. On the trunk were marks for every year of her height.

Getting taller.

Getting closer.

Time was progress.

Felicia bounded up and down, testing the distance between her arms to the branch. Finally, at the tip of her toes, she reached up to hang the lantern. Just barely there—almost there. But it was not enough. Frustration boiled from her tiny legs as she tried hopping only for the leaves to rustle above.

Must she wait another year just to hang a lantern?

And then, a warm hand grasped under hers and helped lifted the lantern up and onto the tree branch. It swung happily in its renewed place among nature, glowing like a miniature sun. Felicia turned around and faced a stranger with amber eyes.

The wind blew his long, dark hair over his shoulders and he smiled as though he knew her his entire life. Tucked under his arms was a wrapped gift.

“Happy birthday, princess,” he offered with a slight bow. The girl blinked at the gift before happily accepting it into her tiny arms. It felt heavy and thick—must be something good.

“Thank you, mister! Are you from Garreg Mach?”

“No.”

“Oh. Are you from one of the cities? Enbarr?”

The man laughed—the same way her father laughed, and he shook his head. “No, but I am heading there for a small vacation. I’m just another witch passing by to offer you some birthday wishes.”

“Well, I hope you’ll stay a bit,” Felicia said cheerfully. “We will cut the cake soon so you better get in line if you wanna beat mama.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much time, princess. I only came to drop off my present.”

The raven-haired witch tilted his head—how uncanny it was that he appeared so similar to Felicia's father, almost like a twin with longer hair and red eyes. Even the way he spoke to her had an edge which could only belong to her family.

The girl blinked and peered down to her gift.

“May I open it?”

“But of course.”

He stood by to watch as Felicia not so carefully with the enthusiasm of a child well-loved tore the wrapping away until there was a flurry of paper dancing in the air and towards the ground. When the mini storm dispersed, the girl stared down at an overwhelmingly large and worn down journal. She tilted her head and ran through the pages, eyes drawn all over the writings and drawings of blue domes. Finally, she settled on a page and read it briefly before her eyes widened.

“Ward magic?” she squeaked excitedly, nearly hopping. “I-I thought ward magic was extinct, how did you get this?!”

“My mother passed it down to me. And now it’s yours,”

“Oh no, mister! I could not—”

“Please, princess. Such knowledge should be passed down to the right successor. And I think you’re more than worthy,” the dark-haired stranger said with a warm smile. He tapped on the book and nodded solemnly. “Of course, I need you to promise me something.”

“A-Anything!”

“Promise me that you won’t go overboard with the magic. It can be...incredibly strained on the body from long uses alone. Only use it when you truly have to.”

Felicia nodded dutifully, hugging the journal to her chest. “Yes, I will.”

“And here, give this to your father.” The stranger dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a little baggie. Felicia accepted it only to hear the soft rattling of something spilling back and forth. She blinked and arched a brow at him.

The stranger hummed. “These are seeds of winter roses. Your father should plant theme so your coven can have a good reservoir of energy.”

“I never seen winter roses. Are they pretty?”

“Just as pretty as you. Especially at night. Once the field blooms, try taking a nap among them. It’s very relaxing.”

“Oh, thank you so much! I will---”

“Felicia!” A voice called out from the opening of the forest. The girl immediately perked up at the cry of her father and she whipped back around to the stranger with a low bow.

“Thank you so much for the gift! I really appreciate it!”

“Of course, princess. And remember: take care of yourself well and your family.”

The girl nodded with starry eyes and made the mad dash down the hill; the stranger watched from the tree, never once taking his gaze from her fleeing back.

Felicia's father was waiting at the entrance and his face lit up when the girl appeared from the woods. He scooped her up into his arms and kissed her face as she squealed. It was then that he noticed that she was much heavier before and looked to see that his daughter was holding onto a gigantic book.

“Whoa, where did you get that, Fe?”

“Another witch gave me a present—look daddy!”

Her father gently put her down and took the book from her hands. His heart stopped at the cover and he paled white as he furiously went through the pages. The father was half-breathing almost in a panic and he slowly glanced back at his curious daughter.

“W-Who...who gave you this?”

“A pretty witch with long black hair—like you, daddy! He also had these bright amber eyes. Oh, and he wanted me to give you this,” she said and fished for the packet of seeds. Her father accepted them reluctantly as though the girl had just presented him with a bug, and choked visibly when he poured the seeds out onto his palm.

“Winter roses…”

“We can grow them, daddy! The stranger said that we can use them for energy!”

“Felicia.”

“Yes?”

The father swallowed and looked down with wet eyes. “Did you catch the stranger’s name?”

The girl blinked. “Uh. no...but he’s over there if you want to—” she stopped and gawked at the hill overhead. “W-where did he go? He was there!”

When the daughter turned back to her father, the first thing she saw were a trail of hot tears straining his usually cool face. He had begun to laugh very shortly, even shaking his head in absolute disbelief. Felicia’s eyes widened and she grabbed onto her father’s pant leg protectively.

“Oh, daddy! Don’t be sad!”

“My Fe, these are happy tears,” he choked with a trembling smile. He placed the seeds back and returned the book to the girl before picking her up. She wiped the wetness from his eyes as he walked back to the party at hand. As they went, Felicia leaned in and whispered to her father’s ear.

“That witch sounded like he knew you. Did you know him?”

Glenn laughed. “Yes, yes...very much so. Come Fe, I have much to tell you.”

In the far distance, a raven-haired witch crept out from behind a tree. He stared very longingly at the father bringing his daughter back to a crowd. A red-haired witch had in her hands, sticks of sparkling light for the children. A benevolent witch had baked more sweets as the mother had reached out for one of them. There were more passing travelers, men from the cities nearby, who stopped and offered small gifts as respect.

It was like watching a million stars come together and twinkled very intimately against the night. Something deep lurched painfully in the witch’s heart and stepped forward as if to join them.

But a large, warm hand suddenly slinked around his waist and he was pulled into a hungry kiss. The witch’s cheeks burned red and he chuckled as he turned around and melted fully into his companion—even abolishing him with a laugh for how his beard tickled against his neck.

They stayed there for a minute among the stars before departing hand and hand back to the main road. Tonight was not about them—the witch knew that intimately. It was the girl’s birthday and she deserved as much love and attention as she wanted.

But perhaps after their vacation in Enbarr, the witch would visit the Remire coven and introduce himself properly. Of course, he would have the pains of also introducing his husband, praying that no one would recognize the one eye. Maybe the beard would throw them off?

He was not sure. All that mattered at the moment was the tingling warmth of the body that hugged him tightly from behind as they got onto their horse. The road to Enbarr was not long but his companion always took the scenic route to places these days. Of course, the witch was ever hardly awake to see it properly.

He sat back against the broad chest of the hunter, smiled, and fell into a pleasant sleep.

In the far distance, a lone star twinkled the way to home.

But they were always home.

**Author's Note:**

> 26k and one week and a half later, and here we are! 
> 
> This was definitely my biggest one shot and I'm happy I made it through to the other end. Thank you all so much for your support and I sincerely hope you guys enjoy the story. I will be finishing my main series since I'm only two chapters away before returning to this series again. Maybe I'll do vampires next. Who knows? 
> 
> Follow me at my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/Meatbike344) for updates!


End file.
